Kiss or Kill
by Mortalus
Summary: HPTR slash. A freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Attempted homicide and attempted romance ensue, not necessarily in that order.
1. And Never the Twain Shall Meet

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. This chapter and the next will serve primarily as introductory material.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **My goal is to keep this as in character as possible. I appreciate any feedback, especially if you think I've got characters – particularly Harry and Tom – acting in blatantly ridiculous ways. Reviews are appreciated, especially critical ones.

**Chapter One: And Never the Twain Shall Meet**

Harry had never thought he would ever want to go back to 4 Privet Drive instead of live in a place where Ron and members of the Order took up residence, but the place he was led to, five minutes past midnight on his birthday, made him think differently. The constriction he felt in his throat the moment he saw 12 Grimmauld Place again did not let up the slightest bit for days afterwards. Even with Ron there – Hermione was on holiday with her parents in Spain – he felt mostly sick every morning when he woke up.

He had thought that he was dealing well enough with Sirius' death, insofar as he had yet to break down about it, until he had entered the old house. Mrs. Weasley had done wonders to it since he had last been there; it looked more like the Burrow than like the house of an old family of Dark wizards, though perhaps a bit better constructed than the Weasley's home. Someone – Remus Lupin, he discovered, upon inquiring – had managed to find a way to get the portrait of Sirius' mother out of the entryway, and it made a great difference. Harry was told that the foul portrait was currently residing in a closet on the second floor, and he stayed well away from it. The Black family tree was gone, too, likely by the same method. None of the remarkable changes to the ambiance of Grimmauld Place, however, managed to soften the blow of Sirius' absence from the house he had so despised. Everyone present noticed Harry's sulky mood, and it tended to make things quiet when he entered a room, so he stayed to himself whenever Ron or another Weasley wasn't making a concerted attempt to get him to be sociable. That happened more often than Harry may have liked because Ron, in particular, was consistently trying to keep Harry amused, while Mrs. Weasley tried to keep him busy, and he appreciated both their efforts. Fred and George were also there quite often (though, normally, only when Mrs. Weasley wasn't, since she was still very upset with their career choice) since they were now old enough to be full members of the Order. Thanks to all of them, every day seemed a little less long and painful than the last. Percy had yet to make an appearance, not that Harry was terribly sorry about that, though he did find it a little sad that the family still hadn't reconciled, even after Percy had been proven wrong about supporting the Ministry and its stance against believing in Voldemort's return.

No one was denying his return any more, least of all the Ministry. Harry learned, upon his return to Grimmauld Place, that Fudge had been sacked as Minister for Magic. The new Minister, Zedekiah B. Zigor, was described by 'Mad-Eye' Moody as 'a hard-liner, like Crouch was when he was running the Death Eater trials in the old days' and, even though Moody didn't mean it in a very complimentary way, Harry couldn't be too unhappy about anyone replacing Fudge. As long as Zigor didn't paint Harry as a deranged attention-seeker, he was sure they'd get along just fine.

The _Daily Prophet_ had woken up, too, and its view of Harry was now so complimentary that Ron laughed as Harry blushed just from reading it. The paper was no good for keeping track of Voldemort's movements, though; people were so paranoid that the _Prophet_ was getting at least a dozen reports a day from those who claimed to have spotted him or a supposed Death Eater lurking in their gardens, staring through their windows at night, or kicking their cats, and the paper was printing them all, no matter how far-fetched the story was. He knew for a fact that Fred and George had written the one that was allegedly from an elderly witch who had seen He Who Must Not Be Named peeing in her neighbor's bushes at three o'clock in the afternoon last Tuesday.

On a brighter note, Harry had received the results of his O.W.L.s from the Ministry of Magic shortly before leaving for Grimmauld Place, and he figured that he had done well. The letter, printed on paper with a very official-looking letterhead, read as follows:

_Mr. Potter,_

_Your achievement on the Ordinary Wizarding Level examinations for fifth-year students is attached. Please note that a grade of at least 'A' is required by the Ministry in order to continue in any given subject in your sixth year; further requirements are left to the discretion of your learning institution. A copy of your results has been sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_With Best Wishes in Your Future Studies,_

_Griselda Marchbanks_

_Wizarding Examinations Authority_

_Ministry of Magic_

Upon tearing away the Ministry seal on his results, Harry had found a basic rundown of the O.W.L. grading scheme ('O' was for Outstanding, 'E' meant Exceeds Expectations, 'A' was Acceptable, 'P' was Poor and was considered a failing grade, D was for Dreadful and, worst of all, T was for Troll). After scanning this, Harry looked down the listing of his grades:

_AstronomyA_

_Care of Magical CreaturesO_

_CharmsE_

_Defense Against the Dark ArtsO_

_DivinationT_

_HerbologyE_

_History of MagicP_

_PotionsE_

_TransfigurationE_

He wasn't surprised at all about failing Divination, but he thought that Troll was a bit harsh; after all, how could he be expected to develop an all-seeing Eye with Professor Trelawney teaching the class the way she did, not to mention predicting his death weekly? His History of Magic grade wasn't too shocking, either, considering that his exam had been interrupted by –

Harry shook his head sharply. Well, he wouldn't miss Professor Binns, anyway; he was the most boring teacher in the school. Harry felt that his Astronomy grade was a little disappointing, but that exam had been interrupted, too, and it wasn't a subject he was terribly interested in, so it didn't bother him much.

He had received seven O.W.L.s in all: one Acceptable, four Exceeds Expectations, and two Outstanding. It was one of those Exceeds Expectations that bothered him more than any of his other grades, because it meant he wouldn't be taking Potions that year; Snape refused to accept anyone with less than an Outstanding grade into his N.E.W.T.-level classes. He hated Snape, but it meant that there was no way of him ever becoming an Auror, because a Potions N.E.W.T. was required for admission into Auror training. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only thing Harry was good at (he had survived encountering Lord Voldemort, the worst Dark wizard in the world, a total of five times, and had received an Outstanding O.W.L. in the subject), except for Quidditch. _I guess my only career choice now is Seeker._ Not that there weren't other professions in the wizarding world, of course, but being an Auror or being a professional Quidditch player were the only things Harry felt he could ever be good at, and now one of those options was out, thanks to Snape.

Ron's grades compared pretty well with Harry's – in fact, they were even a little better. He had only gotten a Dreadful in Divination instead of a Troll ('But what does it matter?' said Ron. 'It's not like you could have dragged me up to that tower again even if I'd scraped a pass.') and he also received a passing grade in History of Magic ('And you would have, too, except for… well, anyway, I'm not taking that again, either,' Ron mumbled). That brought his total up to eight O.W.L.s, which made Mrs. Weasley go into raptures; Fred and George had only received a handful each and, compared to that, Ron was an angel, even if he didn't have the same excellent grades as Percy before him. Hermione, of course, had gotten ten Outstanding O.W.L.s and a Medal for Magical Merit, though she still wouldn't stop worrying about her answer to question Whatever on exam Thingy.

Harry himself had more important things to worry about. When he wasn't thinking mournfully about Sirius, his mind turned to the prophecy. He still hadn't told his friends about it, but he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. How could he _not_ think about it when it spelled death for either him or Voldemort? He couldn't bear to tell anyone else. It was bad enough just having a conditional death sentence hanging over his head – he couldn't handle the thought of other people _knowing_ about it. He was also being forced to continue Occlumency lessons with Snape over the summer while he was at Grimmauld Place, and he grudgingly admitted that, once he put some effort in, it did stop him from dreaming of Voldemort. This didn't stop Harry, however, from wishing Snape would blow himself up in his potions lab some day.

Hermione arrived two weeks before the end of summer. Harry was glad not to be the sole focus of Ron's attention anymore, even though Hermione was even more reluctant than Ron or Mrs. Weasley to leave him alone. Hermione was also more perceptive; she seemed to know Harry was hiding something beyond his grief over Sirius, but didn't press the point, limiting herself to the occasional questioning glance or leading statement that Harry supposed was meant to draw out a confession ('If Harry had something to say to us, he _knows_ we'd be _perfectly_ supportive, no matter what it is, so he wouldn't be hiding something, would you, Harry?' to which Harry had replied by reading off a part of his Transfiguration essay and asking her if it sounded all right). Harry found all this talk about not hiding things from friends to be a touch hypocritical of Hermione, who had never told Ron or himself about the Time-Turner she was using to get to all her classes in her third year until she used it to save Sirius.

That thought brought yet another pang of guilt and loss. Hermione had also attempted several times to speak about Sirius, but Harry had remembered the way Hagrid had turned deaf whenever his expulsion was spoken of, all those years ago before they learned the truth, and tried very hard to act like that. Hermione eventually got the message.

All in all, Harry was more than happy to say goodbye to Grimmauld Place and board the Hogwarts Express. He hoped, rather than believed, that he wouldn't have to worry about the prophecy this year. _I'm only sixteen!_ Harry thought to himself indignantly. _I have ages to worry about it… but the longer I wait to _do _something, the more time Voldemort has to hurt people._ Realizing that he was entering into the same argument with himself that he'd been having for the past two months, Harry pushed thoughts of Voldemort and the prophecy out of his mind and attempted to enjoy the train and the company of his friends.

Little did he know that, much sooner than usual, Lord Voldemort would be making his most memorable appearance of all.


	2. An Egocentric Interlude

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. This chapter is something of a mirror of the last – a prologue for Tom Riddle.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **My goal is to keep this as in character as possible. I appreciate any feedback, especially if you think I've got characters – particularly Harry and Tom – acting in blatantly ridiculous ways. Reviews are appreciated, especially critical ones. Thanks for the great detailed reviews for the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this one just as much; I must admit that I find writing Tom Riddle to be more entertaining than writing Harry, personally :)

**Chapter Two: An Egocentric Interlude**

Tom Riddle sucked on the end of his quill, dipped the tip into his ink bottle, and scrawled down the conclusion to his essay in swift, sharp strokes. He rolled up the parchment and put it aside, sighing deeply as he did so. He would not have waited so long to complete his homework assignments if he were still at the orphanage; there, it would have been a matter of picking the lock on the cupboard in which the staff put his school things during the summer and frantically scribbling for ten minutes at a time, relocking the cupboard and returning before he was missed. He would have had to start at the beginning of the "holidays" to finish in time. As it was, he had had a great deal more free time to manage over the past two months at Hogwarts, and homework had not been high on his list of priorities.

Tom had completed his main summer project over two weeks before, and it was currently ensconced in his room, in a metal case inside his trunk, protected by a half-dozen different wards and hexes he had found in various books in the Restricted Section. He was not yet sure what he would do with it; he had originally intended to slip it inside a library book, where it would eventually be found by some witless student after Tom himself was long gone. However, this plan had a certain flaw: neither _he_, nor anyone else, would be in control of when it was found, or who would find it. Leaving the fate of such a dangerous artifact as his diary to the wiles of chance wasn't appealing to his sense of drama or timing. There was also the option of keeping it himself and setting it loose at the appropriate moment, but he liked to think that he'd have better things to do with his time in the future than fiddle with old playthings from school. Eventually, he had decided that giving it to someone reasonably trustworthy once he left Hogwarts – someone with just enough brains to know not to use the diary until an opportune moment arose, or to write in it himself, but with not enough brains or power to use it against Tom – was the ideal maneuver. He hadn't decided who that would be yet, but he had nearly two years before he left Hogwarts.

It was to be Tom's last day of solitude. The other students were returning to Hogwarts on the train as he sat there finishing his essay, and by early evening he would be inundated with the distracting shouts and giggles of lesser mortals. Then he would have to begin classes again and he wouldn't have as much privacy to wander the library and the grounds as he pleased. He would still have the time, oh, yes, he'd have the time, he thought bitterly. Classes had long before become nothing more than a formality for Tom; he found them rather boring, frankly. They wouldn't be so bad if the other students could pick up the concepts as quickly as he did. However, as everyone was slower and less talented at magic than he, Tom often found himself sitting at his desk, hands in his lap, for most of his practical lessons after he had mastered the spell of the day. This usually took only as long as the time he needed to say the incantation; he had never yet had to practice any spell he had been taught in class. Some others he had researched on his own were more difficult, but only marginally so.

The only teacher who had ever made any effort to keep Tom amused during class was, ironically, his least favorite person in the school: Albus Dumbledore. He knew Dumbledore felt the same way about him, which is why he was baffled as to why the Transfiguration professor took it upon himself to give Tom extra work in class – and Dumbledore even made the work interesting. It wasn't writing lines, like the way the old Potions teacher had punished Tom once for finishing his work early in his first year (and Tom was quite glad to hear of the old bastard's retirement when he got back to Hogwarts the year after). No, Dumbledore lent Tom spellbooks from his own library on Advanced Transfiguration to read and practice with while the Professor instructed and guided the rest of the class through spellwork Tom had understood the minute the incantation had escaped Dumbledore's lips. Because of this _well-deserved_ special treatment, Transfiguration was the only class Tom ever looked forward to.

Tom still hated Dumbledore, of course, and Dumbledore still hated him – he was sure of that. If he hadn't hated him before, he definitely hated him after last year. He just _knew_ that Dumbledore _knew_ he hadn't been telling the truth about Hagrid. The way the man had been looking at him… Tom shivered. It felt like shards of ice cutting into him. And Dumbledore had come up with the perfect punishment for Tom, too. It was nicely subtle – a Slytherin maneuver, one which Tom would have appreciated, had he not been on the receiving end of it.

When Tom had caught Hagrid and presented him to Headmaster Dippet, earning himself a Special Award for Services to the School and making himself a hero to everyone at Hogwarts, he hadn't foreseen any way that Dumbledore could possibly strike back, even if he _did_ know. But Dumbledore was clever; he had somehow persuaded the Headmaster to keep that oaf Hagrid on at Hogwarts instead of sending him straight to Azkaban (how he managed this, Tom would never know) and have him trained as gamekeeper. Of course, Dumbledore did this because he knew Tom happened to be friends – in a mutually beneficial sort of way – with the gamekeeper, Hopkins. Tom had been assisting Hopkins on forays into the Forbidden Forest since Tom was in his third year (the fool Hopkins couldn't aim a wand properly at anything _stationary_ if his life depended on it, yet alone hope to protect himself from the swift creatures of the Forest) and, in return, Hopkins looked the other way while Tom harvested ingredients for illicit potions. It was an excellent arrangement which no one could have found anything suspicious about, except Dumbledore, of course – but then, he thought _everything_ Tom did was suspicious. _He'd probably watch me go to the loo if he could, the barmy old kook,_ Tom grumbled. _In fact,_ he added, smirking nastily, _if he had watched me go to the loo last year, he would have found out a great deal, indeed_.

At any rate, now that Hopkins had the giant Hagrid, he didn't need to worry about beasties in the forest harming him, and Tom had lost an important connection. In the end, Dumbledore had gotten at least some small revenge and it annoyed Tom that he hadn't beaten his ultimate opponent entirely. Still, Dumbledore certainly didn't know how Tom had done it, or else Tom would be in Azkaban at that very moment. Tom had, quite literally, gotten away with murder right under Dumbledore's nose, so he couldn't complain _much_. _Not that I even meant to kill that girl,_ Tom shrugged. _It's not as though I could have known some stupid girl would go cry in the bathroom at exactly the wrong moment. Oh, well. Her loss._ And the loss of the girl who had been teasing her, from what Tom heard. The ghost of the dead girl was stalking Olive Hornby everywhere she went, driving her absolutely mad. _Better her than me,_ Tom grinned.

Perhaps this year would be different from the others, though. Even if Dumbledore did dislike him more than ever, Tom was at least entering N.E.W.T.-level classes this year. He had, naturally, gotten Outstanding O.W.L.s in every class he took – he hadn't even needed to open the letter the Ministry of Magic had sent him to know _that_. Tom also received a Medal for Magical Merit, not that he needed some stupid Ministry medal to tell him that he was ten times the wizard that any of the other students in the school could ever hope to be. He intended to take every class he had taken the previous year at the N.E.W.T. level, even though he had been advised against it, since the workload was so huge in the upper-level classes. _Huge for most students, maybe, but for me, maybe it'll be enough to finally make things interesting_, Tom thought.

Little did Tom know that his life would soon be getting far more interesting than he could ever anticipate.


	3. Lending a Helping Hand

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. In this chapter, Harry and Tom both begin their sixth year at Hogwarts, not knowing that they will meet in a matter of hours.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **Sorry, I would have posted this last night, but there was a nasty storm :( Thanks for the great reviews; I did received one question that I'll answer at the end of this chapter.

**Chapter Three: Lending a Helping Hand**

Harry's first day back at Hogwarts had gone well enough so far, although he was shocked at just how different N.E.W.T.-level study promised to be. He had thought he'd be getting off pretty easy that year with just five classes to take (Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Defense Against the Dark Arts) but, as he had discovered in Transfiguration that morning, they were expected to do massive amounts of work outside class. In Transfiguration, there was a lot of theory to comprehend about human-animal transformations before they could even begin to start transforming each other, and their new set book, Really Advanced Transfiguration for Beginners, Vol. I was about three times thicker than their last two Transfiguration textbooks combined. He didn't know how he was going to survive even five classes if they were all going to be as challenging as that.

Herbology after break turned out to be just as bad. Professor Sprout expected them to come out regularly to work in the most dangerous greenhouses in order to learn how to identify and grow hazardous species, as well as learn how to identify them on the spot and list off which parts of the plants were used for specific remedies. Neville was the only one who appeared remotely enthusiastic about all this, which was to be expected, since Herbology was his best subject.

Fortunately, Harry found that he and Ron had the rest of the day off after lunch; Hermione still had Potions and Ancient Runes, so they wouldn't see her again before dinner. 'You two had better start on your homework,' said Hermione, who was still shaken by the piles of work that had already been forced on them just halfway through her day.

'Hermione, you have to drop something, and that's it,' Ron said as he drank a bowl of soup. He swallowed a mouthful, then said, 'There won't be anything left of you a few weeks from now if you carry on in _all_ your classes. Why don't you just drop a couple of the stupid ones, like History of Magic and Astronomy?'

'Astronomy is _not_ stupid!' she cried. 'Nor is History of Magic!'

'Even the really hard jobs like Healer and Auror only require a handful of N.E.W.T.s, Hermione,' Harry pointed out. 'There's no need to take ten. What's the point?'

'I want to keep my options open,' Hermione replied primly.

'McGonagall warned you about taking too many classes this year,' Ron said. 'You're going to run yourself ragged like you did in our third year. You need to narrow your options!'

'Fine, fine, I'll think about it,' she said. 'Let's just see how it goes, and if things do get too hectic, I may _consider_ dropping a course or two. I don't intend to take on so much that I can't keep my grades up.'

She set her napkin down on the table. 'I'd better get to Potions.'

'I'll come with you,' Ron volunteered, standing up. 'Uh, I mean, that new Ancient Runes textbook of yours looks heavy, want me to… ?'

'Here,' Hermione replied, taking it from her bag and dropping it into Ron's arms. It _did_ look heavy; it was only about a hundred pages slimmer than their new Transfiguration text.

'See you in a bit, Harry. I'll meet you back in the common room,' Ron said.

'Yes, and I'll see you at dinner,' Hermione called as they walked away.

'Bye,' Harry replied. Once they had left, he took one last sip of juice before standing up and walking away from the table.

* * *

Tom was having an awful first day of term, and it was all Dumbledore's fault. First, he hears _from one of his housemates_ (as if Dumbledore didn't have the time or opportunity to tell Tom personally in the past two months instead of making him look like an ignorant fool!) that Dumbledore is setting up a Junior Dark Force Defense League at the school. Second, he learns that this club is an exclusive, invitation-only affair. Third, he finds out that the invitations have already gone out, and that _he _was not invited. _It's not fair!_ Tom thought. _I'm the best ruddy student in the whole school, and he doesn't invite _me_ to have a share in an advanced Defense club! _As a matter of fact, none of the Slytherins were invited, and if that wasn't an example of Dumbledore thumbing his nose at the entire bloody House, Tom didn't know what was. _That prejudiced, dirty, pathetic…_ Tom was livid about it. _If anyone in this school deserves to learn advanced magic, it's me! Did he really think he could keep this a secret from _me, _of all people?_

Things hadn't improved in Transfiguration, during which Tom exercised every last ounce of control he possessed not to give Dumbledore outrageously dirty looks throughout the period. Then, like icing on the cake, Dumbledore had ignored him completely for the entire class, except for saying 'very good, Mr. Riddle,' not even looking Tom in the eye as he passed, after Tom performed an extremely complex transfiguration that turned the boy in the seat next to him into a hare. They weren't even expected to make their partners furry or slimy at all for weeks! _Next time I'll change him into an elephant. I'd like to see Dumbledore ignore that!_

_God, I need a cigarette_.

Tom wasn't feeling hungry, so he decided to go chat with Professor Arruns, the Divination teacher. _She'll give me a cigarette,_ he smiled, _she hates smoking alone._ Tom didn't smoke nearly as often as many of the boys at the school. He was given barely enough money every year to cover the cost of his books, supplies and robes, and it was certainly not enough to buy packages of Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, or cigarettes very often. Most of the teachers smoked, though, and several of them were not averse to sharing. Arruns smoked like a chimney.

He reached the Divination classroom, which was a large and dingy room on the third floor that always smelled like cigarettes. The door was open, and Professor Arruns was sitting in a chair, her legs crossed, her eyes closed, and her head leaning back against the headrest of her chair. She looked exhausted. 'Professor Arruns?' Tom called, pasting his best, toothy grin on his face.

She turned her head to look at him and smiled warmly in return. 'Well, if it isn't my favorite student. And how many times have I told you to call me Adora?' she purred.

In fact, she told him that every time they spoke, but he knew that she enjoyed telling him to call her by her first name in that flirtatious tone of voice she had used with him since his fourth year, so he indulged her by calling her 'Professor' first. 'My apologies, Adora,' he said. 'I didn't mean to interrupt, but I was hoping that you might enjoy some company before class…?' He looked around, and noticed that the room was mysteriously empty of any crystal balls, teacups, or other divining devices, but didn't ask any questions. Arruns was one of those teachers who hated questions of any kind that didn't have to do with _her_.

'Mmm,' she said. 'Sit.' Arruns gestured to the chair in front of her desk, which he knew she always kept there before class for this very purpose. He sat down smoothly, his eyes and his grin never leaving her face. 'Would you like a cigarette?' she asked him, smiling while producing a pack from the left pocket of her robes.

'Don't mind if I do,' he replied, taking one from between her outstretched fingers. _Why the hell else would I be coming to see you, you daft old cow? You think I enjoy flirting with women twice my age?_ Tom pulled out his wand and used it to light the cigarette, placing it in that position between his lips that the bathroom mirror thought looked quite dashing. Arruns lit a cigarette of her own and took a long drag.

'How was your summer, Adora? It's really too bad you didn't spend the holidays here at Hogwarts. We could have gotten to know each other better,' he said, using that slight pout that made people think he was a little hurt or disappointed.

'Oh, Tom!' she sighed. She was so easy to flatter; he had done even better than usual. 'I'm afraid I was quite busy this summer, you know. It was no fault of yours that I wasn't here, I assure you. And after all that business with the Chamber of Secrets last year, many of us teachers just wanted to get away! But, of course, _you_ fixed all that! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a job to come back to this year!' she laughed.

_Modesty, Tom, modesty._ 'I'm sure someone else would have discovered Hagrid soon enough.' _Really, what kind of an idiot tries to raise an acromantula in a cupboard?_

'Tom, don't be so modest! You got that award for a reason,' she said.

They continued chatting and smoking until they had both finished their cigarettes simultaneously; Tom had to smoke faster than usual to keep up with her. 'Ah, that's just what I needed after this morning's classes,' she said when they were finished. 'Speaking of which, you may have noticed that the room is a bit barren this year. I'm moving the classroom up to the top of the North Tower.'

'Really?' Tom said. 'Why is that?'

'Peeves. Surely you remember how often he disrupted class last year? He has it out for me, I swear,' she sighed. 'I'm hoping that he won't want to bother traveling so far out to annoy me. Dippet is too soft on him.'

'At any rate,' she continued. 'Since you're here so early, I was hoping that you could help me with a little errand.'

'Errand?' Tom asked, trying to keep his voice light. _I'm not a slave boy, Arruns…_

_

* * *

_Harry was taking the long way back to the Gryffindor common room, hoping to reach it around the same time as Ron so they could start their homework together (_or play chess, or go out flying… Hermione need never know_) when he was stopped by a shout of 'Potter, Potter!' from a corridor he had just passed. He backed up and looked down the dimly lit hall to see someone he had hoped to never see again: Professor Trelawney.

_Not her!_ Harry thought desperately, trying to think of any way to get away without seeming rude, but Professor Trelawney had obviously spotted him, and she must know that he had spotted her, since he was looking right into her giant spectacles. She appeared to be struggling with a large wooden crate. Relenting, Harry walked down the corridor towards her, none too happily. 'Yes, Professor?' he said in a monotone.

'Mr. Potter, I could use some help.'

_Wonderful_, thought Harry. _Just wonderful._

_

* * *

_**Xenia Black:** Harry has no problem with Dumbledore; I feel that they resolved their issues in Order of the Phoenix. At the very least, I don't subscribe to the theory that Harry is a bitter little boy who thinks Dumbledore is manipulating him for his own gain. Dumbledore only kept information from Harry because he cared, and Harry couldn't dislike him for that any more than he could dislike Mrs. Weasley.


	4. A Minor Technicality in Time

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. It's finally time for the actual time travel!  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **Thanks to those reviewers who noticed my errors in the last chapter, which have been fixed (I _always_ type Transfiguration when I mean to type Divination, bah, I just did it again). This chapter took me a bit longer than the others, mostly because of the ending. NOW UPDATED to show dates, to make it a little less confusing!

**Chapter Four: A Minor Technicality in Time**

_September 2nd, 1996  
12:47 PM_

'Be careful, dear!' cried Professor Trelawney as Harry wobbled a bit from the strain of the heavy object in his arms. Harry struggled to keep a firm grip on the crate; his fingers were becoming slippery with sweat, and he knew that they were a good ten minutes away from Trelawney's classroom. He dug his fingers in deeper and continued forward. 'The object in that box is very sensitive,' she added.

Harry couldn't imagine how anything so heavy could require as much tender care as Trelawney seemed to think was required. When he had unwillingly approached her in the hallway, she had explained that the object in the crate was a device that had belonged to a previous Divination teacher at Hogwarts, and that she had found it in a storage locker in the dungeons. It was resistant to levitation charms, and she didn't trust something so 'delicate' to house elves, so she was trying to carry it all the way to the North Tower on her own – with limited success, based on Harry's observation. As a result, he was now hauling whatever it was through the hallways himself, with Trelawney supervising. _Next time I'm going straight back to the common room._

'What's in here, Professor?' grunted Harry.

'I'm afraid the answer would be too complex for you to understand with your limited knowledge of Seeing.'

_Then you must not know either,_ he thought. He shifted the weight of the crate again to keep himself from falling over as he rounded a corner. _Come on, Harry, just a little bit further…

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
12:32 PM_

Arruns, Tom decided, owed him about a pack of cigarettes for this already, and they weren't yet out the door. The errand she was oh-so-politely asking him to complete involved hauling a large crate to some backwoods part of the castle without using any kind of magic. 'It's a sensitive device – doesn't like magic much. I tried to levitate it out of the dungeon I found it in and it wouldn't budge an inch. I nearly broke my back getting it this far and I ruined a perfectly good pair of heels,' she said. 'And since you're such a gentleman, I was rather hoping –'

'Say no more, Professor,' Tom said gallantly. _I could just charm up a dolly,_ he thought. _Wait – that would be showing off, by Arruns' standards. Arruns hates it when students outdo her. She'd be insulted that she didn't think of it herself._ He hadn't gotten this far at Hogwarts without ingratiating himself to the more egotistical teachers a bit, and that meant pretending to be stupider than they were once in a while. This left him with only one option, and he grimaced as she turned away and put a notice up on the classroom door to inform the other students of the new location of the class. He waited with inward impatience as she cleaned a few more packs of cigarettes out of her desk and slowly packed the last few items in the room into her handbag.

'All right, doll, let's go,' she called, once she was _finally_ done.

_There will come a time when people who call me 'doll' end up with their innards on the outside,_ Tom promised himself, swallowing a curse and picking up the crate. It was even heavier than it looked, and he grunted from the exertion.

'Which way?' Tom panted.

'Just down here,' she replied. Together, they started down the still mostly empty hallway.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
12:59 PM_

Harry would never know how he managed to get the crate up the trapdoor. It was just barely wide enough on all sides for the crate to fit through; its edges scraped along every side of the opening. However it was done, the crate now sat on the floor of the Divination classroom, as did Harry, sweaty and exhausted. He had hoped he would never have to enter that room ever again, but now he didn't know how he would manage to scrape up the strength to leave it.

'Very good, dear. Now, if you could just help me get it open…'

Harry sighed and stood back up.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
12:48 PM_

He was going to _kill_ Arruns. She was traipsing along easily through the hallways, considering which direction would take them to the North Tower. 'No, no, it wasn't this way, and that hall leads west,' she muttered, 'we'll have to back up to the last turn.' Tom managed to turn around and reach the previous intersection, at which point she realized that that hallway must lead north, not west, so they had to go forward again. His back was killing him, his arms felt like they were going to give up the battle at any moment, and Tom _really_ wished he could throw her a Killing Curse without the use of his wand…  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
1:02 PM_

The bell to signal the start of the period had rung several minutes before, but Trelawney had a free period, so she wasn't bothered. _Ron's probably back in the common room by now and we _should_ be enjoying our free time._

Harry and Professor Trelawney spent several minutes trying to pry the top off the crate and finally succeeded once Harry noticed that it was bolted down with a Sealing Charm. Once that was removed, the top of the box popped up, and the sides collapsed to the floor, revealing the crate's contents.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
1:01 PM_

It had proved difficult to get the crate through the trapdoor to the top of the North Tower, but Tom had succeeded at last, just as the class bell rang. 'The other students probably won't find the classroom for some time,' Arruns said, 'so we may as well open the box up.'

He sat on the floor, leaning on the wall, as he watched Arruns trying to pry the top off. _I'll wait a few minutes before putting her out of her misery._ _It's obviously got a Sealing Charm on it. I wonder if witches and wizards go into Divination just because they're no good at anything else?_

After Arruns pulled so hard that she ended up falling over and breaking the heel on her shoe, Tom lost his patience and reached lazily into the pocket of his robes to pull out his wand.

'Relevi,' he murmured. The box went to pieces; the sides came off, and the top exploded up to the top of the room, hit the ceiling, and fell back down, hitting Arruns on the foot. 'Sorry Adora. I suppose I don't know my own strength,' he pouted, with a slight hint of a smirk catching the corners of his lips.

'Quite alright, dear,' she gasped, grabbing her injured foot and hopping on the other, which already had a broken heel. 'Now, let's see what we have here…'  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
1:03 PM_

'I'm quite _certain_ that it must be a Seeing Crystal. It's the largest I've ever seen! Oh, this is so exciting!' Trelawney gasped, inspecting the large, shiny, jagged rock that occupied the middle of the room.

'What's that?' Harry asked.

Trelawney could not contain her impatience with him. 'I told you it's far too complex an object for you to understand! However, I suppose I may as well _try_ to explain it to you. We Seers must have patience with those of less natural talent, I suppose,' she sighed dramatically. 'It allows you to view your own past, dear.'

Harry shrugged. 'Sounds like a Pensieve.'

'No, no, no!' she said exasperatedly. 'A Pensieve allows you to see _memories_. A Seeing Crystal shows the _true past_!'

'I thought Divination had more to do with the future.'

'You happen to have had a very narrow experience in the subject,' Trelawney sniffed.

_And whose fault is that?_ Harry thought grumpily.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
1:04 PM_

'Is it a Seeing Crystal?' Tom asked. 'I've never heard of one so large.'

'No,' Arruns said, 'there would be no purpose to having such a large Seeing Crystal. It would work no better than a smaller one...' She walked around the base, inspecting it with a furrowed brow.

'Maybe that's why it's been in storage for so long?' Tom suggested.

'What's this?' she said suddenly, bending down and poking at a bit of parchment under the crystal. Pulling it out, she read aloud:

'Thy past be in the future, Thy future with thy past, If ye – hmm, there's some ink spilled on this part… Thy selves, ye may contrast.'

'Sounds like the important bit got blotted out,' Tom frowned.

'Hmm,' Arruns mumbled. She made one more loop around the object before putting her hand on it.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
1:04 PM_

When Professor Trelawney's hand touched the giant crystal, a high tinkling sound – like wind chimes in a mild breeze – filled the room. After a few moments, she removed her hand and looked at it. 'It's warm,' she said in surprise, her magnified eyes looking down her spectacles at her fingers.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
1:04:11 PM_

'My, my, this _is_ interesting,' Arruns smiled. 'We seem to have a genuine mystery on our hands. I'm _sure_ it's for use in Divination – why else would it be in the Divination storage room? But I don't believe I've ever seen anything like it.'  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
1:04:22 PM_

'It must be broken,' Trelawney declared, peering into the device with disdain. 'I suppose that's why it's been in storage so long. They ought to have thrown it away. Still, I suppose it would make a nice centerpiece for the classroom.'

'Let me see,' said Harry, walking towards the object and reaching out his hand before Trelawney could gather herself enough stop him. _Broken? It was certainly doing _something  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
1:04:22 PM_

'You said it was warm when you touched it?' Tom questioned. He could hear voices in the corridor below and knew that the other students would be arriving once they figured out how to get up. He stepped right in front of the crystal and placed his hand on one of its flatter, gentler planes. Just before he did so, he could swear that he saw…

* * *

There was a handprint, male, larger than Harry's own hand, glowing directly below where his hand hovered…

* * *

But ignoring it, or in spite of it, or _because_ of it –

* * *

Harry placed his hand firmly on the crystal, and it _glowed_, and a cold wind hit his face so hard that his eyes squinted nearly closed –

* * *

And there was such a noise, a wailing, a siren –

* * *

That it pained his ears to hear it. He tried to move his hand, but couldn't; it was as though it was sealed to the crystal. Then the wind died, and there was a sound like cracking ice. Harry opened his eyes and saw that the crystal was breaking, right along the lines of his hand, outward from his fingers. A dozen other cracks broke off from them, then a dozen more, until the crystal was covered in spidery fault lines. 

It shattered.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1942  
1:05 PM _

Tom removed his hand from the crystal and stepped away hastily. 'That was… bizarre,' he said, looking at his hand. 'I think it's faulty, whatever it is.'

'Perhaps you're right,' Arruns sighed. 'But it's still quite pretty. I suppose I'll keep it, anyway.'

The trapdoor opened, and students began climbing through. Tom looked back at the crystal suspiciously before taking one of the plush seats and waiting for class to begin.  
_

* * *

September 2nd, 1996  
1:05 PM_

Tom's face stung, and he knew he must be bleeding. He tried to push himself up with his hands, but they fell on sharp, cutting edges, and all he managed to do was slip back down and cut himself further. He was able to get to his knees, scraping them against the shards of crystal on the floor, and squinted up to see a boy with spectacles staring down at him, his wand pointed at Tom and his mouth moving, before a spell hit Tom square in the chest, and his vision went black.  
**

* * *

SachiAmi:** As indicated in the above segment, Harry had no trouble at all recognizing Tom ;)

**DARKMARKLV:** Nope, no 'blushing girl' Harry here. I just don't see that as his character. Hell, he couldn't stand Cho getting all weepy on him; Harry's not too in touch with his feminine side. And of course Tom will like Harry in return! I didn't say this would be a rape fic, did I? Hehe.


	5. An Old Mans Interregnum

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Time for Dumbledore to fix everything – or not.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **Thanks for the great reviews! The last chapter was especially challenging to write. Still no Tom/Harry interaction, but be patient, it is coming.

**Chapter Five: An Old Man's Interregnum**

'Get Dumbledore,' Harry said hoarsely, his eyes never leaving the young man lying, bleeding, in the middle of the mess of crystal pieces. He heard the clicking of Trelawney's shoes as she walked quickly toward the trapdoor and then heard it slam behind her. After that, the room was silent, save for the shock pounding in Harry's temples.

When the crystal broke, there had been a flash, a thousand tiny crystals refracting light at once to the same spot, and Harry had been thrown forcefully across the room, to the ground. Then _he_ had appeared in the light, lying on the floor.

Harry recalled standing and advancing. When he had seen the dark hair, he had raised his wand, feeling silly for it at first. It was an Apparition accident; it was a student lying there, face down, on the floor, an ordinary student who was probably cut all to pieces, and he should be calling Madam Pomfrey, not walking forward with his wand raised like a paranoid nutter. But then the boy had come alive; he had tried to rise, but slipped, and Harry had caught a glimpse of a Slytherin badge. When the stranger tried to rise again and made it to his knees, Harry was right above him, just out of arm's reach; the boy looked up, and Harry recognized him at once, even through the blood all over the boy's face. Then Harry had done the first thing that came to his head:

'Stupefy!' he had gasped, barely managing to say the incantation correctly in his shock. It had done the trick; the boy slumped back down and crashed to the floor.

Now, with Trelawney off to fetch Dumbledore, Harry continued to stare at the boy on the floor, his eyes and his wand never leaving his target. He felt exhausted and a little sick, even though hardly anything had happened at all, by Harry's standards. His stomach was in knots.

_How did it happen?_ Harry's mind kept screaming. _Is it Voldemort, the _real_ Voldemort_, _or is it like his diary? Did he store his memories in it?_ Trelawney had said that Seeing Crystals didn't store memories, but showed the 'true past,' whatever that meant. He couldn't put much faith in what she said. _Dumbledore will know, _he chanted to himself. _Dumbledore will have some explanation._

A while later – Harry couldn't tell how long it was – he heard the trapdoor open again, and a woman's voice speaking frantically, coming closer. Two sets of footsteps walked over to him, but he kept his attention on Riddle until he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder. He turned to face Dumbledore, whose gaze was fixated on the unconscious boy with one of the gravest expressions Harry had ever seen on his face.

'Professor?' he rasped.

'Should I summon Madam Pomfrey, Headmaster?' asked Trelawney.

'No, that won't be necessary,' Dumbledore replied. 'Mobilicorpus.'

Riddle's body rose off the ground, leaving a small puddle of blood in its wake, much of it staining the tiny, sharp crystals.

'Harry, I would like for you to wait in my office. The password is 'ice mice'.' Dumbledore said quietly. Harry, not particularly keen on letting Riddle leave his sight, but feeling that there was no one better to trust him with than Dumbledore, nodded and walked to the trapdoor.

The door shut behind him. Harry walked through the corridors in a daze, glad not to meet anyone he knew as he walked toward Dumbledore's office. He reached the statue of the gargoyle on the second floor, spoke the password, and went up the stairs.

* * *

Tom woke slowly, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of a white ceiling and light streaking in through the curtains around his bed. He was in the Hospital Wing. He pressed his hand to his face and, removing and inspecting it, saw there was no blood. His injuries were already healed. 

He sat up slowly, feeling a slight pang in his head as he did so, but not enough to discourage him. He looked through the curtains to his right and saw the silhouette of a man sitting beside him. If Tom could see him, then he could probably see Tom, too.

Indeed, the man rose from his chair and opened the curtains. Tom blinked a few times as light came streaming through, and when he could see clearly again, he couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath of surprise.

Standing beside him was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Tom couldn't waste time wondering why the Head of Gryffindor was waiting for him to wake, because he was too preoccupied with wondering how Dumbledore had grown a foot of beard since the start-of-year feast the night before, why said beard was entirely white, along with his hair, and why he was giving Tom such an absolutely murderous look. Tom couldn't help being a bit frightened; he had never seen Dumbledore look so angry at anyone.

'Professor,' he said slowly.

'Mr. Riddle. I would say that it is a pleasure to see you again, but that would be a complete lie, and I believe we are above such pleasantries,' Dumbledore said, with a smile twisting his lips that didn't look at all friendly to Tom.

'I would wonder what I have done to deserve such an impolite greeting,' he replied, keeping his face impassive. His eyes were fixed on Dumbledore's and he was wondering where his wand had got to.

'Your wand, Mr. Riddle, is in my care,' Dumbledore said. Tom mentally kicked himself and turned his eyes away abruptly. _Legilimens, Tom, he's a Legilimens! Why don't you just tell him outright that he's making you nervous!_

'I see,' he said, trying to keep his voice steady, his usual smile fighting to return to his face. 'I suppose I ought to get back to class.' Tom threw the sheet off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Dumbledore, however, was standing too close to Tom for him to stand up.

'Aren't you curious about what happened to you?'

'_Not particularly_, sir,' Tom said from behind clenched teeth.

'Then allow me to enlighten you.' Dumbledore then made to sit down, and Tom was forced to make room for him if he didn't want to get sat on. Dumbledore stared across the room as he spoke. 'You may have noticed that I look a bit older than you remember me.'

'Your appearance is of no concern to me,' Tom said, with more of a bite to his tone than he had intended.

'No, I suppose it is not. What is the last thing you remember before waking?'

'I remember clearly someone hitting me with a Stunner,' he said angrily. He was losing his patience with Dumbledore, and even if he _did_ take off points for cheek, Tom could always make it up later by answering questions in class. 'If you wouldn't mind telling me who it was, I'm quite eager to return the favor.'

'You will not be harming any student in any way!' Dumbledore said ferociously, turning towards Tom and fixing him with that same angry stare he had come in with. Tom forced himself to look away again, lest Dumbledore read his mind, but Dumbledore grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up. 'I want to know what occurred _before_ that moment, and if you will not tell me willingly, I will force it out of you. I am not here to play games of any kind with you. Your fate is dependent entirely upon how well you cooperate with me. Is that absolutely clear, Mr. Riddle?'

Tom wanted to say something, something like 'You can't do this to me!' or 'I'll tell the Headmaster about this!' or a combination of the two, but Dumbledore was looking at him in such a way that all he could do was gulp and nod, looking away as Dumbledore released him. He hadn't been this scared since he'd been a small child in the orphanage, and he didn't like the feeling at all. Had Dumbledore found out about what had happened last year?

Tom recounted the story of what had occurred during lunch hour: how he had brought the artifact to the North Tower and touched it, and how he had ended up lying on the floor with a boy pointing a wand at him. Dumbledore asked him a few questions, prodding him to go into greater detail, but there really wasn't much else to tell, and he could see that Dumbledore still wasn't satisfied.

'I swear, sir, that's all I know,' he said solemnly at the end of it. He looked up at Dumbledore, who had been staring down at him the whole time as he spoke to the Professor's armpit. Their eyes met briefly, and Dumbledore sighed, turning away.

'I see that you have told me everything you can, and I thank you for your cooperation,' he said stiffly. 'However, I am not very happy with the answer.'

'Why, sir?' Tom asked before he could stop himself.

'Because, Tom, you are currently in the year 1996, and there is no way to put you back.'  
**

* * *

Iskjif:** I think you might understand that last part better now that I've put in dates. It wasn't a mistake that I put Tom in _both_ of the ending segments :)

**Shattered Diamond:** I don't imagine Voldemort would remember, as it happened a long time ago and wasn't very memorable on his end, but more on that later!


	6. The Inexplicable Pants

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom and Harry meet again, and Dumbledore explains all – well, a little. Kind of.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **Thank you once again for reviewing. Some of this chapter was originally intended for the last one. Yes, I'm sure you think I'm evil for withholding it (please don't hurt me), but I liked where the last chapter finished off, and I wouldn't have this chapter title, otherwise. Hehehe…

**Chapter Six: The Inexplicable Pants**

Harry sat in a chair directly in front of the Headmaster's desk, waiting for him to arrive. The office was deadly silent; the portraits did not speak, and Harry wasn't tempted to start a conversation, even if he had been waiting for what felt like ages.

The office door opened, and Harry turned in his seat to see Dumbledore come in. To Harry's surprise, however, it was not Dumbledore, or even another teacher.

'Ginny?' Harry said in surprise.

Ginny looked just as surprised to see him. 'Harry?' She shut the door behind her. 'What's going on? Professor Trelawney took me out of Charms.' Ginny took the seat next to Harry and looked at him questioningly. 'She said Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with me. Do you know why? She wouldn't say.'

Harry was wondering the same thing: what did Ginny have to do with any of this? He realized that it must have something to do with the fact that she was possessed by Riddle's diary in her first year at Hogwarts, but he couldn't imagine why Dumbledore would want her, of all people, knowing that another version of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle was on the loose.

'I'm not sure how much I should tell you,' he said awkwardly. 'I mean, Professor Dumbledore should be back soon, and I'm not entirely sure why he wants you involved.'

'Wants me involved in what? Tell me, Harry,' she said in a demanding tone.

Harry hesitated. Riddle could be walking through the door at any moment; at the very least, Ginny should be warned. He felt a bit cross with Dumbledore for putting him in this position, because he really didn't know how to explain it, himself.

However, no sooner did Harry open his mouth, about to tell her everything he could, than the door opened again.

* * *

'_1996!_ And what do you mean about me not being able to go back?' 

'I will explain as much as I can, but there are two other students waiting for us in my office as we speak, and I would prefer to not have to repeat myself,' Dumbledore replied. He stood up and beckoned to Tom. 'Come with me, Mr. Riddle.'

'Why do you have to explain it to _them_? _I'm_ the one affected! What do _they_ have to do with anything?' he snapped.

'I will explain when we reach my office,' Dumbledore said again, sterner than before.

He walked with Dumbledore some way. They went down a flight of stairs, and Tom tried to go down another, but Dumbledore stopped him. 'My office is this way, now,' he said.

'What?' Tom said. 'Oh.' _Bloody hell. The only place we could be going from here is the Headmaster's office. This day just keeps getting better!_ If Dumbledore was the Headmaster now, then Tom had no protection from him at all, not even the feeble sort that his Head of House and Dippet had provided. _This is a nightmare. Dumbledore obviously has more than mere suspicions against me – who knows what he could have learned in 54 years!_

A moment later, a Hufflepuff girl began walking down the hall towards them. 'That girl is wearing _trousers!'_ Tom exclaimed loudly, stopping and pointing. The girl looked at him in astonishment. 'And what is that_ thing_ on her back?' he asked, indicating the large bag she had strapped over both shoulders. At this point, Dumbledore grabbed Tom's arm to drag him along and tipped his wizard's hat to the girl as they walked quickly by, Tom staring at her until she hastily turned the corner, looking back at him in alarm.

'Please try to refrain from pointing and speaking until we reach my office.'

'Yes, sir, but –'

'Hush.'

* * *

Dumbledore walked into the room. There was someone hidden behind him, and Harry was sure that it was Riddle; Ginny was trying to peer around the Headmaster to see who it was. Harry and Ginny both began to speak at once, but Dumbledore held up his hand. 'I would ask you both to agree not to pull out your wands during this meeting. Is that acceptable?' Harry and Ginny both nodded, though Harry did so with greater reluctance, since he knew who it was that Dumbledore was protecting. 

Then Dumbledore stepped inside and Riddle appeared behind him. Ginny gasped and grabbed for her wand.

'Miss Weasley, no wands,' Dumbledore said, reminding her of what she had agreed to moments before.

'How can you expect me not to hex _him_?' she shrieked, getting to her feet. She did not, however, pull out her wand, though her hand was clutched around it inside her robes and she was shaking with fury.

'What did _I_ do?' Riddle asked indignantly. 'I don't even know you! I don't know either of you! And you!' he spat at Harry, 'You're the one who Stunned me!'

'Calm down, all of you!' Dumbledore said loudly. No one spoke, though Riddle looked extremely put out, and Ginny was staring daggers at him. 'Please sit back down, Miss Weasley.'

Ginny sat down slowly, her eyes never leaving Riddle as she did so. 'Mr. Riddle, please take the seat next to Mr. Potter.' Dumbledore gestured to the chair next to Harry, and Riddle sulked over to it. He sat down and began drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair as Dumbledore made his way to sit behind his desk.

Riddle glanced over at Ginny. 'It's rude to stare, you know.'

'Quiet!' Dumbledore glared at him. Riddle glared right back, but said nothing. 'Now, if I might have your full attention for a few moments, Miss Weasley,' Ginny took her eyes off Riddle and stared at Dumbledore, crossing her arms. Dumbledore continued. 'It appears that there has been an accident which has resulted in Mr. Riddle's presence. Mr. Riddle has already given me his account of what happened, Mr. Potter, and I would like to hear yours, as well.' Dumbledore gave him an encouraging smile and then leaned back in his chair, wove his fingers together and waited for him to begin. Harry looked to either side of him and saw that Ginny and Riddle were looking at him expectantly, as well.

Harry recounted what had happened to him, staring studiously ahead to a spot behind Dumbledore. He heard Ginny let out several gasps, and Riddle shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Dumbledore, however, didn't seem to be surprised at all, but increasingly displeased as the story progressed. Finally, when Harry was finished, all three of them rounded on Dumbledore, who appeared to be deep in thought.

'It is as I feared, then,' he said. 'It appears that Mr. Riddle is, indeed, who he appears to be. Furthermore, he cannot be sent back to 1942.'

'Why not?' Harry asked. 'I mean, doesn't he have to be sent back? How will he –' Harry glanced at Riddle, who was looking back at him pensively, 'you know, grow up, in the past, if he's here?'

'The Tom Riddle that is in our midst is not the Tom Riddle we know, Mr. Potter. This young man,' he gestured at Riddle, 'and he were one and the same, up until the moment when he touched that crystal. You, Mr. Potter,' Dumbledore said, 'for reasons we are both aware of, were mistaken by that artifact for the Tom Riddle of this time period.'

'Now, I cannot say for sure, but I believe, based on both your descriptions of events, that the artifact was some form of time portal. It felt the same person calling to it at the same place and the same time, but in different years. I cannot say why this resulted in Mr. Riddle's presence here, but I do know, based upon the fact that another Mr. Riddle, the one we know, continued to exist in 1942, that you, Tom,' he nodded to Riddle, 'cannot possibly go back without creating a paradox and destroying reality as we know it.'

'But how can there be two of me?' Riddle asked. 'And why would the crystal mistake _him_,' he inclined his head towards Harry, 'for _me?_'

'I'm afraid that, in this instance, I do not have all the answers,' Dumbledore shrugged. 'Time travel is a great mystery, even to witches and wizards. I would theorize that this reality, in an effort to protect its own existence, allowed there to be two of you. In that case, it would not only be inadvisable to send you back to your own time, but impossible.'

Riddle didn't seem to notice, yet, that his second question had not been answered, and Dumbledore pressed this advantage. 'Class will be over in ten minutes. I will escort you out of my office, Mr. Riddle, and I will be back to speak with you two further.'

'You're going to talk about me, aren't you? I insist on staying, if that is the case,' Riddle said, glaring at Dumbledore.

'You are in no position to insist on anything. You will cooperate with me or face unpleasant consequences.' Dumbledore's tone made it clear that these consequences were not something that any of them wanted to know of. Riddle, apparently resigned for the moment, allowed himself to be led off, though he gave Dumbledore dirty looks the whole way out, which Ginny repaid to Riddle in full.

As soon as the door shut, Ginny said, 'I can't believe this is happening! He can't possibly intend to keep that monster here! He should be sent to Azkaban, or be given the Dementor's Kiss!'

Harry nodded. 'I know. I don't know what Dumbledore's playing at, but he can't seriously expect either of us to go along with it. I don't see why he doesn't just kill him here and now, if it's not going to disrupt our reality.'

'Why did he even ask me to come here? What was the point?'

'I don't know. I don't really understand what's going on. This seems like an awful lot of horrible luck, or a bad dream.'

'Bad dream? It's a nightmare! _One _of him is bad enough! Now there are _two_, and we can't get rid of either!'

Their conversation continued in this vein until Dumbledore's return. They both stayed quiet as Dumbledore went back behind his desk and sighed.

'It appears that Mr. Riddle is here in this time to stay,' he said, peering at both of them in turn over his half-moon spectacles. 'Now we must decide what to do with him.'  
**

* * *

Shattered Diamond: **Voldemort will definitely be more than curious about how his younger self ended up there – once he finds out. However, he won't necessarily connect this with a defective magical object that made a funny noise when he touched it over fifty years ago. It's not really very obvious from his end of the stick.

**DARKMARKLV:** Tom will find out about his past history eventually, but not right away. I have a good scene plotted out for that, and I will say no more!

**dairygirl:** Harry has to be nice to Tom at some point, doesn't he? ;)


	7. Inviable Alternatives

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Now that Tom is in the future, what is to be done with him? Will he get a Killing Curse up the arse, be sent to Azkaban, or… ?  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoy this chapter! No Tom in it whatsoever, I'm afraid, but that will change very soon:)

**Chapter Seven: Inviable Alternatives**

'Kill him,' said Harry immediately.

Dumbledore stroked his beard. 'I'm afraid I cannot do that in good conscience. It is true that he is guilty of murder, but we do not kill our prisoners, least of all ones so young and relatively harmless.'

Harry blinked. _Relatively harmless?_ 'But we know what he'll grow up to be! We know that he's capable of murder and that he's not at all sorry for it!'

'It is highly unlikely that this Tom Riddle could possibly follow the exact same path as his predecessor, Harry, though it is true that he is a remorseless killer,' said Dumbledore kindly. 'Miss Weasley,' Ginny looked up at him with wide eyes, surprised to be drawn into the conversation. 'You are the person who knows this version of Mr. Riddle best. I would like your opinion on the issue.'

Ginny thought for only a brief moment and then replied, 'I think you should throw him into Azkaban for murder and practicing the Dark Arts. Maybe killing him _is_ a bit much; we don't want to become like _him_, after all.'

Dumbledore beamed at her. 'Yes, that would appear to be the best solution. However, there is a serious problem with it.'

'What's that?'

Dumbledore's expression turned grave. 'I received word shortly after breakfast that there has been another breakout from Azkaban; those involved were the Death Eaters who were captured at the battle in the Department of Mysteries. The new Minister for Magic is furious and has decided to remove the Dementors from Azkaban entirely. In their place will be a team from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but I doubt that would stop Voldemort if he wanted to get in badly enough.'

Harry closed his eyes. 'And if he found out that his younger self was there…'

'He would most likely abduct him to further his own power. The boy would be nothing more than potion ingredients to him. I can well imagine what sorts of life-enhancing concoctions Voldemort would be able to create with Tom's flesh and bone. He would become more powerful than ever he was,' Dumbledore said, looking worriedly thoughtful.

'Of course, that's not even taking into account how odd it would seem for me to be attempting to throw a sixth-year student into Azkaban for a murder that took place over fifty years ago.' The Headmaster chuckled softly at the thought. 'And if I did explain the whole story –'

'They'd kill him,' Harry frowned. 'They'd never allow him to live, even in Azkaban.'

'Worse,' said Dumbledore. 'I think they'd be too afraid to kill him, too afraid that he might return in the same way Voldemort did, no matter how ill-founded such fears would be. They'd give him the Kiss, Harry.'

Harry couldn't find it in his heart to feel very sorry for Tom Riddle, but even if he was a murdering bastard who didn't deserve any kindness, Harry didn't _really_ think that anyone short of Voldemort deserved the Dementor's Kiss, no matter what he may have discussed haphazardly with Ginny. _And maybe Bellatrix Lestrange deserves it, too,_ he found himself thinking, a simmering well of rage rising within him at the thought of her, _for what she did to the Longbottoms and Sirius._

'So that's it?' Ginny said in a high, panicky voice. 'If he can't be killed, and he can't be sent to Azkaban, then where is he going to go?'

Harry was wondering the same thing. _That leaves only one safe place to keep him…_ 'You're intending to keep him here at Hogwarts, aren't you?' he said accusingly.

Dumbledore sighed. 'I don't see any other viable option.'

'He can't stay here!' Ginny screeched.

'If the other students found out he was here, it would only be a matter of time before the Ministry or Voldemort got hold of him.' Harry said slowly, looking over the rim of his glasses at Dumbledore as they slipped down his sweaty nose. Harry was speaking mostly to himself; the gears of his mind were turning, and they were coming to a sickening conclusion. 'That's why you brought us here, isn't it?' he said softly. 'Ginny and me, we're the only ones here who would know who he is. We're the only ones who know he's Lord Voldemort.'

Dumbledore lowered his head, which was all the confirmation Harry needed. 'You are not the only ones, Harry; Professors McGonagall and Hagrid would recognize him, as well, and I will speak to both shortly.'

'You want us to keep our mouths shut,' Harry continued. 'What if we refuse?'

'I want you to do a great deal more than that, Harry,' he whispered. 'And I know that neither of you will refuse, because you have come to the conclusion yourselves that there is no other way.'

There was silence. Harry frowned into his lap. 'But you do intend to keep him under lock and key, sir?'

Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked as though he was bracing for an impact. 'Hogwarts is not a prison, Mr. Potter. It was never intended to be. Even if I were to lock him up in the deepest part of the dungeons –'

'But Barty Crouch managed to keep Moody under control for a year, and he was a full-fledged Auror!' Harry argued.

'I am _not_ Barty Crouch, Mr. Potter,' Dumbledore said, his eyes piercing Harry's. 'I cannot keep Mr. Riddle in such inhospitable conditions, and I do not believe that either of you would. We must not stoop to the level of our opponents,' he said, with steel in his voice, 'lest we wish to become them.'

Harry bit his lip. He didn't want to become Barty Crouch, Jr., but what other way was there to keep Riddle under control at Hogwarts? 'Fine then, we'll find some other way, we'll lock him somewhere he can't get out of and slip him food and let him out to go to the bathroom and –'

'And he would eventually escape us. He is too clever to hold,' Dumbledore concluded, folding his arms.

'Professor,' Ginny said softly, 'he would stay at Hogwarts as long as he thought that it benefited him to do so.' She looked towards Harry sharply. 'As long as he thinks he can gain knowledge and power here, he'll stay of his own free will!'

'Or if he had nowhere else to go,' Harry added.

Dumbledore nodded. 'I believe that the best way to go about it is to allow Riddle some modicum of freedom. A bird in an invisible cage will not wish to be set free.'

'Not until it flies into the bars,' Harry muttered.

'I believe he will find my restrictions agreeable, given what will happen to him if he does not abide by them,' Dumbledore said with a dangerous tone in his voice. 'I will attempt to make him aware that he would be endangered if he left Hogwarts. I do not, however,' he continued, staring seriously at Harry and Ginny, 'want him to know about Voldemort. Not yet.'

'But sir, it'll be impossible to keep it from him!' said Ginny.

'Indeed, it will be, in the long run. But I think it would be best for Mr. Riddle to find out about Voldemort after he has settled in here. I imagine that he will have enough trouble adjusting as it is, and the less conspicuous he makes himself, the better.'

'What if he does something stupid, though?' Harry asked. 'He was already going by the name of Lord Voldemort when he was at school. What if he walks into the Slytherin common room and says 'Hi, nice to meet you, my name is Tom Riddle, but you can call me Lord Voldemort?' just because he doesn't know better?' Harry couldn't help but be reminded of how Dumbledore had taken five years to tell Harry about the Prophecy when, by the Headmaster's own admission, he should have done so much sooner.

'I believe I have planned a way to ensure that he doesn't do that. I intend to finalize that plan directly.' Dumbledore stood, adding a sort of finality to the conversation that made Harry and Ginny stand, as well. 'Miss Weasley, I thank you for your input. I ask you only not to breathe a word of Tom's identity to anyone, and that you try not to be openly hostile towards him, lest your immediate dislike of a new student draw too much suspicion.'

'I still don't like this plan,' she said. 'He's too dangerous. He'll get someone killed.'

'If he does that, Miss Weasley,' Dumbledore said, 'I will take full responsibility. However,' Dumbledore added, 'Mr. Riddle did not go about murdering people willy-nilly in his school days. He had no desire to get caught, and he will be watched constantly. Harry, I would like you to come with me. You and I are going to have a few words with him. I do apologize for dragging you into this,' Dumbledore said, with sincere sadness in his voice, 'but I'm afraid it's necessary.'

'I understand, Headmaster,' Harry said strongly. The three of them walked out of the office together, down the stairs and through the gargoyle. Ginny went one way, and Harry and Dumbledore went the other.

As they walked, Harry wondered how Dumbledore intended to ensure that Riddle was watched 'constantly.' Then he realized that he and Riddle were in the same year, that he was the only one who was supposed to know about his true identity – aside from Ginny – and Harry got a very funny feeling about just what Dumbledore was expecting of him.


	8. Conditional Release

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. It's time for Tom to hear the conditions of his release, and to integrate himself with the rest of Hogwarts.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note: **This chapter was quite a bit of fun to write, so I hope you have just as much fun reading it! Reviews are vastly appreciated.

**Chapter Eight: Conditional Release**

Dumbledore had led Tom to an abandoned dungeon deep in the castle and locked the door behind him. He sat on the annoyingly comfortable chintz armchair Dumbledore had conjured for him, leaning his head against his hand, his eyes closed in concentration.

He had been transported over half a century into the future. He had been Stunned by some half-pint, four-eyed Gryffindor, been subjected to rude questioning by Dumbledore, and had been forced to endure the ear-splitting wails and rude looks of another Gryffindor brat. _Aside from the time-travel bit, my day would have been just fine if it weren't for the existence of Gryffindors._

He grumbled to himself, drew patterns on the dusty dungeon floor with his index finger, and recited the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, to himself in his head while he waited for Dumbledore to come back. Tom considered forcing the door open, wand or no wand, but he didn't think his situation was quite dire enough to cross Dumbledore just yet. If he tried to lock him up, if he tried to send him to Azkaban – and that, Tom considered, was the way the situation seemed to be leaning – then he'd be desperate enough to try it.

The door opened again, and Tom immediately stood up, his eyes fixed on the entrance of Dumbledore and – to Tom's surprise – the Gryffindor boy, who Dumbledore had addressed as Mr. Potter.

'Tom,' Dumbledore greeted him, smiling pleasantly as he walked in and conjured two more chintz armchairs, which were set side by side across from Tom. Dumbledore and Mr. Potter each took one and sat down simultaneously.

'_Headmaster,_' Tom acknowledged. Slowly, Tom also sat. 'If you don't mind –'

'I probably do,' Dumbledore said cheerily, conjuring up another table and some tea. 'Please, help yourselves, boys,' he gestured, taking a cup and pouring some for himself.

Tom couldn't think of a time when he had ever felt less like sitting in a humid dungeon chamber sipping tea with Albus Dumbledore. The boy sitting across from him appeared to share his thoughts if the glances of disbelief he was giving Dumbledore was any indication.

Dumbledore sipped his tea, hummed in appreciation, and then set the cup down. 'Well, if no one else wants to pour themselves a cup, I suppose that now is an excellent time to get started,' Dumbledore said.

'Firstly, Tom, I ought to let you know that I know all about your escapades with regard to the Chamber of Secrets. I am aware that you set the basilisk upon the school populace, murdered that girl in the bathroom, and framed Rubeus Hagrid.'

With each syllable, Tom's alarm increased. _If Dumbledore knows all that, why aren't I in Azkaban right now?_

'Secondly, you ought to know that I am not the only one who knows – far from it, in fact. What you did is common knowledge in this time period.' Tom sat in silence, not daring to breathe, his throat constricting and his mind racing to find any way that he could escape.

'Thirdly,' Dumbledore continued. 'You ought to know that I have no intention at all of sending you to Azkaban.' At this, Tom relaxed muscles that he didn't know he had been tensing, and found that he could breathe a little again. 'In fact, I would like you to continue in your classes here as you normally would, with a few non-negotiable restrictions.'

'Why?' Tom asked, gazing at Dumbledore curiously. 'Why would you, of all people, let me off the hook?'

'Your present self is not a very popular figure, Tom,' the Headmaster replied, taking a break to sip his tea before going on. 'You are a fugitive, an outlaw. If the Ministry – or anyone else – were to discover your true identity, I'm afraid your life would be forfeit.' Dumbledore paused, but Tom wasn't going to give him the benefit of showing any reaction to this news, though his insides were churning and his curiosity was near bursting point. 'I am bound, as Headmaster of this school, to protect you from such certain death. Therefore, I will keep your identity a secret, and I will order anyone else in the school that could connect you with your older incarnation to do the same.'

Dumbledore made another pause, and looked at Tom as though prompting him to reply. Tom really wanted to know more about himself and why he was hiding from the Ministry – not that the idea of being a fugitive in and of itself was so distasteful, but he couldn't ever imagine running from _those_ no-talent paper-pushing hacks. He had expected that he'd be more of a revolutionary sort of figure, not someone who would cower at the sight of an Auror, and he wanted to know why things had gone so badly for him, so that he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He recognized, however, that this probably wasn't the time to ask. If Dumbledore wanted him to know, he would have told him, and if he ever needed to be on Dumbledore's good side, it was now, so he chose a more neutral response.

'You mentioned something about restrictions?' he asked casually, taking a cup and pouring tea as he spoke.

'You will not be allowed into the Restricted Section,' Dumbledore said, his mouth set in a firm line. 'Any books from there that you might require for your studies will have to be cleared directly through me.'

Tom shrugged and nodded. He had been expecting that since he found out Dumbledore was headmaster. Dumbledore had always been cautioning Dippet against allowing Tom such free reign in the less savory sections of the library, so it was only natural that he'd put a stop to it now that he was in charge. It was a setback, but a minor one, considering the present situation.

'You will be taking on a new name. I am presently having the papers for your new identity arranged by some associates. You will say nothing of your past except what I instruct you to say – and whatever you may have to come up with yourself to make it pass scrutiny. You're intelligent enough for me to trust you with that,' Dumbledore continued, a slight smile curling his lips.

'Last, but not least, we come to Mr. Potter here,' Dumbledore said, gesturing to the other boy for the first time since he had entered the room. Tom stared blankly at Mr. Potter, who stared back unblinkingly.

Tom did what he always did when he met someone new: he sized him up. The boy was smaller than him, but fit; he was skinny where Tom was lithe. If it came down to physical combat, Tom felt sure he could handle him. There was a look in the boy's green eyes, though, that Tom found unnerving; they shone with a worldly knowledge that told Tom he'd not had an easy life. His eyes were drawn to the boy's forehead, where he thought he saw a mark, but Potter flattened a fringe of hair over it before he could get a better look.

'Harry will be your guardian of sorts.' Both Tom and Potter – Harry – turned their attention to Dumbledore in undisguised bewilderment. 'He will escort you to and from classes. He will watch you whenever you are not in class or asleep. And,' Dumbledore emphasized, his eyes falling on Tom with the look he used when he was passing out important bits of information in class, 'I expect you to watch over him, as well, Tom.'

_Ah, so now we reach the point!_ Tom thought triumphantly. This _is the real reason he's keeping me around. He knows I'm good with a wand and he wants me to watch this kid's back, for whatever reason._ 'And why would he require a bodyguard, sir, if I may ask?' He glanced at the other boy, and saw his face going as red as his Gryffindor badge with indignation.

'He does not require a bodyguard, Tom,' Dumbledore replied flippantly, 'but since your stay at Hogwarts will be discontinued if anything happens to him, I would suggest that you ensure nothing _does_ threaten him.'

Tom shrugged noncommittally. 'If you say so.'

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. 'You will be placed in Gryffindor –' Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore gave him a warning look, 'and you will be taking classes with the Gryffindors. You will eat with them, study with them, and sleep in Gryffindor tower with them. You will not spend any more time with the Slytherins or students from other houses than necessary for your classes.'

'But that's not fair!' Tom cried. Of all the conditions Dumbledore had mentioned thus far, this was the worst of all. Tom didn't think he could bear having to spend every waking moment with idiot Gryffindors. He didn't even mind if Potter was going to be following him around all day – he could always give him the slip if he had to – but to be forced to associate with such a repugnant crowd of idealist Mudbloods…

'As I said, Tom, these terms are non-negotiable. If you think you cannot abide by them, then we can all save ourselves the trouble and hand you over to the Ministry.'

Tom scowled, but finally nodded.

'Excellent!' cried Dumbledore, clapping his hands together and grinning as if someone had just given him the most marvelous news possible. 'Harry, you may spend the rest of the day however you like. Tom and I need to go shopping for his schoolbooks and supplies. You may tell your fellow Gryffindors that you have been spending some time with me discussing the arrival of a new sixth-year student, and that he will be joining your house. If they ask, his name is Tom Maxwell. It would probably be best to warn them that he's coming, so his appearance isn't too much of a surprise.'

'Yes, Headmaster,' Potter replied sulkily. He didn't look any happier about these arrangements than Tom felt. _At least he's not too keen on watching me. It'll be easier to avoid him if he's not determined to dog my steps everywhere._ Potter turned to leave, but before opening the door, said, 'I don't like this any more than Ginny, sir,' and left.

Dumbledore watched Potter's back until the door closed behind him. He frowned at the door for a few moments, apparently bothered by what Potter had said, before turning back to Tom. 'Well, then,' he said quietly. 'I suppose we had best be off to Diagon Alley. Don't look so worried, Tom,' he added, and Tom looked up, having not realized that he looked worried at all. 'Everything will work out. I'm sure of it.'  
**

* * *

dairygirl:** On the contrary, they are giving him a chance, albeit reluctantly

**Shattered Diamond: **Hermione is definitely going to be intrigued by this new student, and a little suspicious, too! As for informing the staff of Tom's identity, do you really think that's wise, considering what happened to Lupin when Snape spilled the beans on him?

**SachiAmi:** Based on Dumbledore's comments in Book 2 about Tom having been unrecognizable after all the Dark magic he had wallowed in for decades before the start of his first Death Eater campaign, I think he already looked pretty far off from what young Tom Riddle looked like in school. Therefore, I don't think Snape would recognize him. Hagrid would, obviously, and I think McGonagall is around his age, so she would have known him in school, too. Any teachers that may have been there when Tom was still at school, like Flitwick, have probably taught so many students over the decades that they wouldn't blink an eye at seeing Tom Riddle again.


	9. Taking the Plunge

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry speaks with his friends about the new arrival and Tom returns after his trip to Diagon Alley (and no, I will not bore you with the intricate details of Tom getting fitted for robes, buying schoolbooks, etc.)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.

**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.

**Author's Note: **I want to thank everyone for the reviews; they really help encourage me to keep churning out these chapters. Things are going to start moving a little faster soon, i.e. we will eventually get past September 2nd.

**Chapter Nine: Taking the Plunge**

Harry walked quickly out of the dungeons, but had to slow down when he hit the main hallways because classes were getting out and students were heading down to dinner. He followed the crowd, his mind buzzing. Tom Riddle was at Hogwarts. He was _staying _at Hogwarts. And he, Harry, was expected to be his babysitter.

Even worse, Dumbledore expected Riddle to look after Harry; Harry was quite sure that this was the most ludicrous idea the Headmaster had ever come up with. He and Tom Riddle, watching each others' backs and keeping each other out of trouble? It seemed more likely that Harry would be spending his year chasing Riddle away from the Restricted Section, at best.

Harry reached the Great Hall and found that Ron and Hermione were already there and had started dinner; they appeared to be deep in conversation. He sat in the empty seat beside Ron. Ron rounded on him and said, 'Where _were_ you all afternoon? I waited in the Common Room for a while, but you didn't show, so I went out flying with Katie and Jack Sloper. He's improved a lot over the summer. Hopefully Kirke will have been practicing, too. We're having tryouts on Wednesday, by the way, after dinner, we need two more Chasers to replace Angelina and Alicia, well, maybe just one because Ginny's pretty good, but she'll have to try out like everyone else because I don't want people thinking I'm favoring her just because she's my sister, so make sure to be there.' Ron said all this in a very Hermione-like way: very fast, and in just one breath.

Harry tried to make his brain catch up with what Ron had said while he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. 'Well?' Ron prompted. 'So where were you?'

'Oh, Ron, wait, I forgot!' Hermione cried. 'You two won't believe what happened during Potions!'

'What, does Snape act like a reasonable human being in his N.E.W.T. classes?' Ron grumbled, chewing his roast beef. Harry pretended to be interested, hoping that it would distract Ron from asking him where he'd been. _But Dumbledore did say I should warn them. It's not like I can put it off forever._

'Ron, that's disgusting,' said Hermione. Ron swallowed. 'Better. We were just starting our lesson when a Ministry official walked in with a clipboard. For a moment, I thought it was another Umbridge, but as it turned out, he introduced himself as an official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He's supposed to be checking in on a few of the N.E.W.T.-level classes.'

'Huh? Why?' Ron asked.

'Isn't it _obvious?_ Think about it: with Voldemort back, the Ministry is going to need a steady supply of Aurors and Hit Wizards.'

'So they can afford to get a few killed off, you mean,' Harry said darkly. Harry wasn't very fond of the Ministry of Magic: his experiences had shown it to be corrupt and easily manipulated by pureblood wizards like Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge.

'At least the new Minister is taking You-Know-Who seriously, though,' Ron added quietly, not wanting to catch the rest of the table's attention by talking about You-Know-Who, especially to Harry.

'Realistically, Harry, a few _are_ going to be killed,' stated Hermione matter-of-factly. 'It only makes sense for the Ministry to not want its Auror numbers dwindling. It's going to be depending on Hogwarts graduates.'

'I heard from Dad that the Ministry's been doing a lot of extra recruiting for Auror training, too,' Ron added.

'Anyway,' she continued, 'he wasn't very happy that there were only seven people in the class – from _every_ house, I might add; there's only one class for all the sixth years because there are so few people –'

'That's because Snape only accepts people with an Outstanding O.W.L., the git,' Ron grumbled.

'– and he asked what we planned to do after Hogwarts, and only four people were even _considering _going into Law Enforcement,' she continued. 'He started writing really fast on his clipboard, and I heard him telling Snape after class that he wanted him to expand the lesson to include students with an Exceeds Expectations O.W.L. Well, you can imagine how Snape took _that_ – it got really nasty, actually –'

'Did you just overhear this, or were you using Extendable Ears?' Ron smirked.

'If you'd just let me finish,' Hermione said, her face flushed with guilt, 'the Ministry official told Snape – well, yelled at him – that he was going to go to Dumbledore about it straight away.'

'I guess he couldn't find him, then, because he didn't show up when I was with Dumbledore,' said Harry, finding an opening, and ready to get the news off his chest.

'So that's where you were!' said Ron. 'Why were you talking to Dumbledore?' Ron sounded as though he was jealous that Harry would rather talk to Dumbledore than him.

'It wasn't my idea,' Harry assured him. 'He… uh… found me in the hall, as I was going to the Common Room, and he took me to his office to speak with a new student.'

'A new student?' Hermione asked curiously. 'We never get new students after the Sorting, unless you count the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that came for the Triwizard Tournament – there's not another competition, is there?'

'Um, no.' Harry looked down at his lap, not wanting to lie to his friends to their faces. 'I'm not really sure where he's from, but he's a sixth-year like us, and he's going to be in Gryffindor. Ginny met him, too,' he added.

Ron frowned. 'That's funny, she didn't mention him. She did look a little off-color, though, so maybe it just slipped her mind.'

'Harry, this is _big!_' gasped Hermione. 'We've never had a new student past the first year before, yet alone in sixth year, at least not that I know of. Did the Headmaster say anything else?'

'No – well, he did say his name is Tom Maxwell, but that's it.'

'But you did talk to him, right? Didn't he say anything about where he was from and why he was coming to Hogwarts so late?'

'Nope,' Harry replied, grabbing another helping of mashed potatoes. 'I suppose you'll be able to ask him yourself later. He's moving in tonight.'

'I wonder if he's any good at Quidditch,' Ron said thoughtfully.

'This sounds very fishy, if you ask me,' Hermione said, scrutinizing Harry. 'You're _sure_ you didn't hear anything else?'

'Yeah, I'm sure. I'm supposed to be watching him – watching _out_ for him, I mean – so you'll have plenty of time to ask him yourself, since he'll probably be hanging out with us a fair bit.'

'Now that _is_ strange,' she stated decidedly. 'Why would Dumbledore ask you, of all people – I mean, you have quite a bit on your plate already, after all –' Hermione looked a bit embarrassed at having brought up an unpleasant subject, but pressed on, 'be asked to look after a new student? I would think he would ask Ron or me, since we're the Gryffindor Prefects.'

'Yeah, it's strange, all right,' said Ron, sounding wholly uninterested and grabbing a third helping of roast beef.

'I don't know, Hermione,' Harry huffed, 'you can ask _him_, okay?'

Harry only hoped that Dumbledore's cover story would be good enough to stand up to Hermione's scrutiny.

* * *

Tom didn't think he had ever been so exhausted; he and Dumbledore had been shopping for hours, right until the stores closed, because Tom had needed new robes as well as books, what with all his old ones being stuck in the past. He picked disgustedly at his new Gryffindor crest; Dumbledore had taken Tom's Slytherin one off before they went shopping. After shopping they had spent a lot of time discussing Tom's new identity afterwards, so he had missed dinner, and he was starving. 

'Tom?'

Tom looked away from the pile of books and packages he was levitating. 'Yes, Headmaster?' He didn't think he'd ever get used to calling him that.

Dumbledore took a pouch out of a pocket in his robes and placed it in Tom's hand. 'What's this?' Tom asked.

'Just a little something for you to use to treat yourself in Hogsmeade,' Dumbledore smiled down at him.

Tom held the bag back out and looked to the floor. 'I can't accept this.' He had always been sensitive to the fact that he was poorer than most students – certainly a great deal poorer than any of the other Slytherins – and he had taken more than his fair share of handouts that day. 'You already bought me new robes and supplies. That's quite enough charity, I think.'

'Is that what you think this is, Tom? Charity?' Dumbledore pushed the bag of gold back towards him. 'Your cover story would not be believable if you were flat broke, Mr. Maxwell. All I ask is that you spend it on something fun for yourself. Which reminds me…' Dumbledore produced two more packages from his robes, 'I happened to procure these for you from a very disreputable shop while you were being fitted for your new robes. I believe every student in Gryffindor has at least one of each, much to the staff's chagrin.'

Tom frowned at the packages as Dumbledore added them to Tom's pile of school things. 'Basic Blaze Box? Skiving Snackbox? What are they?'

'I'm sure you'll find several people in Gryffindor Tower who will be more than happy to explain them.' Dumbledore was positively beaming with satisfaction.

'Wonderful.'

'Now, Tom,' Dumbledore sighed. 'Do try to be polite to the Gryffindors. You'll be making your own life very unpleasant if you don't. Whether they like you or not, you'll be spending a great deal of time with them.'

'Yes, Headmaster.'

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. Tom knew that this was where the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was, partly because he was a Prefect, but mostly because he'd set the Gryffindor Common Room on fire in his fourth year. Dumbledore wasn't supposed to know about that, though, so he tried to look oblivious about why they'd stopped.

It seemed to work. 'This is the entrance,' Dumbledore said. 'Yorkshire pudding,' he spoke to the portrait.

'It's not as though _you_ need the password, sir,' the Fat Lady demurred.

'Allow me to indulge. It reminds me of my school days,' he replied merrily. 'This is where we part ways, Mr. Maxwell. Harry should be inside at this time of night – be sure to stay close to him. Good luck.'

Tom simply nodded and crawled into the portrait hole, still levitating his supplies in front of him. _Here goes…_  
**

* * *

Shattered Diamond:** Yup, as you said, Tom didn't put the Dark Mark on Snape, so Snape should still be oblivious of Tom's identity :)

**Falena XVII:** It's true that Hagrid's a pretty horrible secret keeper, but it's not as though Dumbledore has much option… still, if anyone is likely to spill the beans... ahem…cough…


	10. Going Attractively Incognito

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Time for Tom to meet the Gryffindors of '96!  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** What a hectic chapter. Yikes. I'm almost as exhausted by it as poor Tom is. Reviews are welcome, as always.

**Chapter Ten: Going Attractively Incognito**

The news of the new arrival had swept through Gryffindor House as unusual gossip always did. Many of the upper year students were sitting in the common room talking or working as usual, but there was an air of tense expectation about the new student, and the room was unusually quiet. All Harry had told them was Riddle's name and his year; the questions about where he came from and why he was coming to Hogwarts went completely unanswered. Even Hermione had given up on pestering Harry; she was resigned to the fact that she'd have to wait until Tom Maxwell arrived for answers.

'Hey, Harry,' Seamus whispered, 'I just went up to our room and there's another bed!'

'Of course there is,' said Hermione, 'he has to sleep somewhere, doesn't he?'

Seamus opened his mouth to respond when Parvati Patil hissed 'Shh! He's coming!' And, indeed, the entrance was opening. The room became even more quiet, the upper classmen waiting, and the younger students wondering what all the fuss was about. Harry took a deep, nervous breath.

First to enter the common room was a massive pile of books, robes, and potion ingredients, all overflowing out of a standard sized pewter cauldron which was levitating into the room. Next to become visible was a wand pointing at the cauldron, and then the shadowed hand holding it. Tom slowly came entirely into view but stopped, startled, as he saw so many pairs of eyes upon him. He looked hesitantly about the room.

'Let me help you with that,' said Ron, standing up and pulling out his own wand to levitate the cauldron.

'Uh, thank you,' said Riddle, who was looking flustered by all the attention.

'Come sit here,' Hermione said, smiling and indicating the seat between her and Harry that Ron had just vacated. 'Ron can take your things up to your dormitory for you.'

Riddle, looking more composed, replied, 'I do believe I shall,' and flashed Hermione a smile that made Ron's eyebrows nearly climb up into his hairline. Harry almost grinned himself at the sight, since he knew Ron had nothing to fear from Riddle once he found out Hermione's bloodlines. Mentally shaking himself – he needed to get used to thinking of Riddle as Tom or Maxwell so he wouldn't slip up in conversation – he turned his attention back to _Maxwell_ as he sat down.

'Tom, isn't it?' asked Hermione absently.

'Yes, Tom Maxwell.'

'I've been wondering what brings you here to Hogwarts so late in your magical education.'

'Well,' Tom began, leaning back into his chair and still giving Hermione a disarming smile, 'I've been home schooled by my mum and dad, but now that I'm to start N.E.W.T.-level study, they're no longer qualified to teach me themselves.'

'Why didn't they want you at Hogwarts to begin with?' she asked, a look of mild horror on her face. 'It must have been terribly lonely for you.'

'Oh, no,' Maxwell continued happily. 'My mum and dad were really great, and I got to spend a lot of time with my cousins in Australia during the summer months, so I haven't really been lonely at all.'

'Your parents are wizards? I've never heard of the Maxwells,' frowned Seamus Finnigan.

'My parents and I have been pretty isolated, truth be told,' Tom admitted with a perfectly convincing soft shrug of his shoulders and falling of his eyes. Harry had to give him credit for being a very good actor. 'I imagine I've heard of most of your names, though. There's the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Weasleys –'

'That's Ron,' Hermione interrupted. 'And Ginny, of course, you've already met her.' At this, Harry took a quick peek at Ginny to see that she was studiously ignoring the conversation. As a matter of fact, upon a cursory examination of the room, she appeared to be the only girl doing so; all other eyes were on Tom Maxwell. Ron came back down the stairs at that moment, and he seemed to notice this, as well.

'There's Draco Malfoy, too, but he's not in Gryffindor,' called Parvati, moving over to them and fluttering her eyes, which caused Harry to roll his indiscreetly. Parvati didn't seem to notice. Ron took a seat on the floor next to Hermione.

'What are your names, then? I feel rude for not asking before now,' Tom smiled shyly.

'I'm Hermione Granger –'

'Parvati, Parvati Patil –'

'Victoria Frobisher, call me Vicky –'

'Livia Ogden, it's a pleasure –' said a girl Harry couldn't remember ever talking to before.

'Lavender Brown –'

'Natalie!' cried a third-year girl.

Tom chuckled softly. 'You're all so friendly! Are all the students at Hogwarts as personable?'

Ron was scowling, but Seamus replied, 'No, not really. You'll have to watch out for the Slytherins especially. They don't like us Gryffindors much, and they might single you out because you're new. Don't worry, though, we've got your back. Us Gryffindors stick together, mostly. I'm Seamus Finnigan, by the way,' he added, shaking Tom's hand.

'Slytherin?' Tom asked, sounding confused, and Harry once again couldn't help but inwardly applaud his acting. _Even Hermione won't be able to see through him if he manages to keep this up._

'It's another house at Hogwarts,' said Hermione. 'Didn't Dumbledore explain?'

'No. He just stuck this-this great ugly hat on my head and it said I was a Gryffindor. He didn't tell me about the rest. There are four houses, though, aren't there? That's what my mum told me.'

'Yes, the other two are Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,' Hermione replied again, cutting to the chase before Parvati could do more than open her mouth. 'Which classes are you signed up for?'

'Oh…' Tom frowned distractedly and pulled out a timetable from his robes. 'Let's see… I signed up for Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Divination, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Astronomy.'

Ron's jaw dropped. 'Isn't that a bit much?'

'_I_ think it sounds wonderful,' said Hermione pleasantly, causing Ron's scowl to deepen. 'Except for Divination; you'll find that it's not a very well-taught subject here.'

'_I_ disagree,' stated Parvati pointedly.

'I mostly taught myself in that subject, anyway,' Tom replied, 'so I'm sure I won't have any problem with the teaching staff.' This answer seemed to please both Hermione and Parvati, and Harry couldn't help but wonder how he managed to placate two girls at once, when Harry couldn't even handle Cho last year. He found himself starting to look grumpy like Ron and, kicking himself, tried to shake it off.

'You must be tired,' said Harry, trying to make himself look concerned. To his surprise, a sort of sleepy look came over Tom's face, as though he had been holding himself together on sheer cheerfulness the whole time. _He's so good that he's even convincing me now_.

'I am exhausted, as a matter of fact. It's been a rather long day – but I wouldn't be insulting anyone if I went off to bed, would I?'

'No, not at all!' cried Hermione. 'I'm really sorry for the interrogation, I was just so curious; I didn't mean to keep you up.'

'Don't be sorry at all, Miss Granger. It's been a pleasure speaking with you.'

'Please, call me Hermione.'

'Of course. Goodnight, Hermione, Miss Patil –'

'Parvati,'

'Parvati,' he nodded. 'Well, goodnight, and thank you for the warm welcome.' With a final large grin, Tom walked up the stairs to the dormitory.

'I'd better go show him where we sleep,' Harry sighed, pushing himself out of his chair.

'It's got a bloody sign on it,' Ron muttered, reaching out and giving Harry a nudge back down. 'He'll manage.'

'He won't know which bed is his.'

'It's the one with all his stuff at the foot of it. I'm sure anyone taking ten N.E.W.T.-level classes will figure that out,' said Ron bitterly.

'You didn't say he was so _handsome_, Harry!' squeaked Lavender Brown quietly, walking over and sitting in the chair Tom had just vacated.

'I wouldn't notice, would I?' Harry shrugged. It hadn't occurred to him that anyone would find Tom attractive; even though Harry knew, intellectually, that he was, 'handsome' just wasn't an adjective he associated with Tom Riddle. Harry thought more along the lines of 'cunning,' 'manipulative,' and 'psychotic.'

'Handsome?' gasped Parvati. '_Gorgeous_ is more like it! It's criminal that he's been kept at home so long.'

'He must be awfully bright to be in all those classes. I wonder how he did on his O.W.L.s? And he does seem quite nice.' said Hermione. 'I still don't see why _you're_ supposed to look after him, though, Harry.'

'Yeah, well, that's Dumbledore for you,' said Ron abruptly, clearly wanting a change of subject. 'How are you doing on that Transfiguration essay, Hermione?'

However, later that evening, as Harry and Ron were going up to bed, Ron asked anxiously, 'Did any of you ask him if he's good at Quidditch?'

* * *

Tom woke up and turned over in bed. He could hear snoring from one of the other boys. _It must be late. They're all asleep._ He had gone to sleep soon after arriving in the dormitory; he really had been very tired. 

Tom's stomach growled. _Ugh, I'm starving._ He grabbed his wand from under his pillow and took his watch from the side table; using the wand for light, he saw that it was only about two hours before breakfast, so he decided against sneaking into the kitchens and lay back down, thinking.

He was fairly sure he'd charmed most of the Gryffindors: all of the girls – aside from that one loud red-headed one that wasn't even in his year – and most of the boys, at least. He'd have to work on that Ron Weasley, though Tom suspected he was only annoyed because he thought Tom wanted to steal his girlfriend – that bushy-haired girl, Granger.

Harry Potter was less transparent, and more important, since he was supposed to be Tom's shadow for the foreseeable future. Why _did _Potter dislike him so much? He'd been all right in the common room, but Tom knew acting when he saw it. He knew that he was supposedly a Dark wizard on the run in this time, but why would Dumbledore reveal his identity to those two students and keep everyone else in the dark? There was clearly something more personal involved when it came to them, since they were, apparently, the only ones who Dumbledore expected would recognize him.

He determined that he would try to work out who he was in this time – aside from Dumbledore's vague description – every waking moment that he wasn't using up doing N.E.W.T. work. He was sure that Harry Potter had something to do with it.

And where did that scar come from? He'd glanced at it during the conversation in the common room and had forgotten to ask where he got it. _He's probably tired of telling the story, whatever it is_, Tom mused, _but I suppose I'll ask him in the morning._  
**

* * *

Shattered Diamond: **Maybe… probably… ;)


	11. You Know Who Who?

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Just who _is_ this You-Know-Who character, anyway?  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** My God, it is so hot today. I think I might die before I get the next chapter out. I've been in the pool for hours instead of writing this because it was too hot in my room, sorry. This chapter is a little slow because it's got a hefty bit of monologue, and it's a bit short, but the next chapter will move much faster – I have big plans for it. Please review, I love reading your comments!

**Chapter Eleven: You-Know-Who Who?**

As Tom sat in bed working on the Ancient Runes homework Dumbledore had passed on to him for the class he'd missed the previous day, he heard the voices and yawns of his new Gryffindor roommates waking. He closed the book softly, set it down, and pulled open the curtains.

'Good morning,' he said brightly, kneeling on his bed. _Ugh, I don't know how much longer I can be this cheerful. I'll have to tone it down gradually._

'Hey Tom,' said a boy Tom could only vaguely recall from the common room the night before. The other boy, Seamus, he remembered more clearly. 'I'm Dean Thomas, nice to meet you.' He walked over and shook Tom's hand. 'Do you have class this morning?'

'Yes, Arithmancy,' Tom replied.

'Ouch,' Seamus cringed. 'What a way to start your first day at Hogwarts.'

'It's one of my favorite classes, actually.' _Those of us with half a brain don't mind using it at any hour._

'Sounds like you and Hermione will get along well,' Dean grinned.

'I hope I can get along with everyone,' Tom grinned back. 'I'm not here to make enemies.' _Dumbledore claims I have plenty._

'You'll be fine,' Seamus assured him. He turned to a boy getting out of the bed to the right of Tom's. 'Morning, Harry.'

'Morning, Seamus,' Harry yawned. He then looked at Tom and his eyes went wide. He suddenly looked very awake. 'Tom,' he nodded.

'Good morning, Harry,' Tom replied. The other two boys seemed to notice that there was some tension; Tom saw them looking at each other quizzically.

'I'm going to go down to breakfast now,' he told Harry pointedly.

'Okay, just let me shake Ron and we'll all go together,' he replied, his voice slow and monotone, as if he were trying to calm an animal that was about to bolt away.

'Of course,' Tom smiled back falsely; he was inwardly seething at the other boy's tone. _You won't be able to tag along with me for much longer, Potter._

* * *

Hermione and the other girls in their year met the boys in the common room – except for Neville, whoever that was, who having a lie-in, since he'd been up late studying Herbology and didn't have class for a couple hours – and they all went down to breakfast together. _Gryffindor Pack Interaction,_ sneered Tom inwardly. _I could write an academic paper on their adorable grouping mechanism._

Tom rarely went down to breakfast, or anywhere else, with the other Slytherins; some people in his house had hangers-on that they liked to drag with them everywhere, but Tom had always been one of the more solitary Slytherins by nature. He liked to be left alone with his books whenever it wasn't necessary to engage in a bit of mixing to keep on top of the business in the snake pit. Gryffindors were rarely alone, though, except for a few of the weaker ones that seemed to go unnoticed by the others.

He tried to look on the bright side; there was always that old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, after all. He'd always observed the Gryffindors closely, and it had often paid off by allowing him to subvert their pranks and trickery. They'd given up on him years ago, though, because he always managed to turn the tables on them. But he still watched; he watched everyone, but especially the Gryffindors and Slytherins, waiting for an opening or an attack. Tom figured this kept him on his toes and was healthy mental exercise.

The moment they had all sat down, Tom sitting between Harry and Hermione – with Ron Weasley on Hermione's other side, Tom noted wryly – the owls came in, delivering letters, packages and papers to the students, just as they had in Tom's time. _I guess most things won't have changed at all_, Tom considered,_ except that girls are allowed to wear pants now, and people use these pack things to carry their books on their backs._ Tom had bought one of those the previous day with Professor Dumbledore, too.

Hermione Granger let out a gasp beside him, looking horrified at the front page of the paper. 'Harry, look at this!'

She passed the paper across him to Harry, who didn't seem nearly so surprised at what the front page said. 'Oh, I forgot about that,' he said darkly. 'Dumbledore told me yesterday about the breakout.'

'He told you yesterday, and you didn't tell us! Oh, Harry, how could you let something so important slip your mind?' Hermione scolded him.

'I got distracted,' he muttered, glancing at Tom.

'What's this about a breakout? You mean from Azkaban? No one breaks out of there,' Tom said.

'Sirius Black did,' said Dean seriously. 'And so did all those Death Eaters last year, but they had outside help.' He was looking at his own copy of the _Daily Prophet _and biting his lip. 'Looks like You-Know-Who was responsible this time, too, only the Ministry's not trying to hide it. All the ones who escaped were the Death Eaters caught in the Ministry building a few months ago.'

'What are Death Eaters? Who's You-Know-Who?' Tom asked curiously.

Everyone around Tom looked at him as though he had leeks growing out of his ears – except for Harry, who Tom saw covering his head with his hands and shaking it in hopelessness. He realized he must have said something very stupid.

'Are you kidding?' squeaked Seamus. 'You don't _know_? Blimey,' he shook his head in disbelief, his eyes not leaving Tom, 'when you said you were isolated, you weren't kidding!'

Tom looked to his other side and saw that Hermione was giving him a pensive, disbelieving sort of look, and he knew that he'd made her suspicious about something. 'I guess,' he replied slowly, 'I might have heard of it, but forgotten?'

'How could you forget _that_?' Ron asked incredulously.

'If you must know,' Harry said suddenly, looking up and switching his gaze back and forth between Tom and Hermione, 'he was hit with a pretty nasty Memory Charm lately, so he's still a bit foggy about some things.'

'Why were you hit with a Memory Charm?' asked Hermione, sounding as though she didn't believe a word of it.

'It was an accident,' Tom sighed, cottoning on. 'I was practicing them with my dad and… well, he got a little overzealous when he was demonstrating. That's part of why I'm at Hogwarts this year, too, I guess. He feels really bad about it.'

'Ouch,' winced Hermione sympathetically. 'That's awful. I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't mean to bring up bad… er, memories.'

'I don't remember it at all,' he grinned. 'So that's not really possible.' _That was close. At least Potter is quick._

'You-Know-Who is a Dark wizard,' whispered Dean, as if even describing this You-Know-Who character would cause something horrible to happen, 'and we don't say his name, ever. He came back last year. The Death Eaters are his servants; they're a nasty lot of murderers.'

'I see,' said Tom, nodding. He didn't see, but asking more questions would look more suspicious. He supposed he'd ask Harry alone later – they sounded like Tom's sort of crowd, and he couldn't help thinking that he was somehow involved. 'I'll try not to run into them, then. I'm sure the Ministry will catch them eventually, and put this You-Know-Who person into Azkaban.'

If anything, this response only got him more odd looks. 'Put him into Azkaban? Are you mental?' goggled Ron. 'They'll off him is what they'll do. Well, Dumbledore will, anyway.' Ron turned away and stuck a fork into his sausage while Harry looked down and squirmed in his chair.

'Are you all right?' Tom asked Harry.

Harry blinked in surprise. 'Uh, yeah, thanks.' He took a swig of juice. 'I'm-I'm fine, thanks.'

Tom shrugged and looked around the table. 'Anyone have a cigarette?'  
_

* * *

This is never going to work_, thought Harry nervously as he followed Tom and Hermione to Arithmancy. _This is mental._ He had listened to Hermione lecture Tom all the way through breakfast on the evils of smoking, aghast that Tom didn't know about the side-effects. She was telling him all about throat cancer, which Tom hadn't ever heard of, as they walked to class.

_Hermione won't take long to figure out something_, Harry worried. _This is insane, completely insane. How could Dumbledore possibly have thought that this would work? _They weren't even through twenty-four hours of having Tom in this time and they'd already suffered through several near-misses. Harry consoled himself that at least Tom had remembered to forget his way around the castle and to look excited and surprised about everything he saw like a saucer-eyed first-year.

Tom entered the classroom, still talking to Hermione and completely ignoring Harry's presence. _Fine, let him ignore me, _Harry thought viciously, _because I don't want to talk to him either. When he gets caught, it won't have anything to do with me. _Yet Harry had already found himself making excuses for Tom, and knew, deep down, that he'd continue doing so. As much as he disliked Tom, he knew it wasn't right to let him die, especially of ignorance.

He sighed and trudged up to the common room to do the homework he _should_ have done yesterday afternoon, looking back anxiously at the door to the Arithmancy classroom. _He's going to cause me a lot of trouble…_


	12. Six Steps Ahead

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom finds out what he's been doing these past fifty years.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** I've been trying for hours to upload this chapter :( Thanks for the overwhelming response for the last chapter, too, and for catching some old mistakes. I caught a couple of pretty bad mistakes in some previous chapters, myself, so I've uploaded corrected versions.

**Chapter Twelve: Six Steps Ahead**

As Harry walked outside to Care of Magical Creatures that day, he felt a wonderful lightness in his chest knowing that he had delivered Tom safely to the Divination classroom and that he wouldn't have to worry about him for over an hour. Harry had been on edge ever since he picked Tom up after Arithmancy, and he didn't know how he could possibly bear more than a day of this stress.

Hermione had come out of the Arithmancy class with a stunned look on her face. 'He's amazing,' she had whispered in awe to Harry as Tom strode ahead. 'He was scrawling down answers practically before Professor Vector had finished writing the questions up on the board! I don't know why he didn't volunteer any of the solutions, he was done ages before I was, but he just sat there, so I still ended up answering most of the problems. Why wouldn't he want to answer them himself? Didn't Dumbledore explain the points system to him?'

Harry hadn't responded, but he had figured it was because Tom didn't want to get any points for Gryffindor. It was probably better for Tom not draw too much attention to himself, so Harry had been glad that he was keeping a low profile in class.

That all changed in Charms. Harry thought he knew what must have been going on in Tom's mind: if he didn't answer the question, then Hermione would, so since Gryffindor was going to get the points anyway, he may as well get the credit. Flitwick had gone easy on them compared to McGonagall the previous day; the class had mostly been review of their O.W.L. work to refresh their memories. Flitwick had asked lots of questions and asked for lots of demonstrations, and Tom was about as active as Hermione in class.

Tom didn't answer questions the way Hermione did. His hand would raise up into the air, but there was something more easy, almost casual, about the movement – unlike Hermione, who waved her hand around looking as though she was about to burst. It had made Tom look less obtrusive to Flitwick, so Hermione had still answered questions before him several times because she was noticed first, but Flitwick had tried to get more people to respond than just Hermione. While Hermione had answered many of the academic questions, Flitwick had given Tom more of the demonstrations, and Tom had performed so flawlessly that Flitwick chuckled, 'My, your parents certainly know their charms! They could put me out of work! You practice them with more ease than any student I can remember. Bravo, Mr. Maxwell!'

Tom had replied with a short, formal bow and some simple words of thanks, smiling shyly all the while. Harry remembered how the other students had been calling Hermione an annoying know-it-all for years, but Tom had a demeanor that made his classmates more entranced than irritated. That might have had to do with the fact that many in the split class were Ravenclaws, but even Harry had to admit with a bit of caustic amusement that Tom appeared so personable that it would be hard to dislike him unless one knew what Harry knew.

After Charms came lunch, during which Harry saw that Tom was trying to get an opening to ask him something, but some other Gryffindors drew Tom into conversation and pelted him with questions. About halfway through lunch, a group of Ravenclaws led by Cho Chang had come over to the table and complimented Tom on his work in class, completely ignoring Harry's presence, which was fine by him. Cho and Tom had spoken for several minutes before Cho walked away, breaking out into giggles with her girlfriends about halfway back to the Ravenclaw table.

Harry had dealt with Ron, who was so obviously jealous of the rapport between Tom and Hermione that Harry had felt very sorry for him. He had spent most of lunch cheering him up with thoughts of Quidditch tryouts the next day, discussing the students who they expected to show up. The atmosphere had been stifling when it was finally time to lead Tom off to the Divination tower, with Parvati and Lavender barely constraining themselves from hanging off Tom's arms.

Lost in worried recollection, Harry walked right into Hermione as he joined the crowd forming in front of Hagrid. 'Sorry,' he murmured.

'Are you really all right, Harry? You're acting oddly – as if you're worried about something. You should have let Parvati and Lavender take Tom up to class, you know. You're nearly late.'

'I'm fine, and as for Tom, Dumbledore told me to watch out for him.'

'Yes, I know, but you're going to a lot of trouble for nothing. Relax a bit,' she smiled. Harry grinned at the irony of Hermione telling him to relax, and she noticed, because she said, 'Oh, don't look at me like that,' though she was smiling, too.

When class began, it became clear to Harry that Dumbledore had told Hagrid about Tom, because Hagrid was acting extremely grumpy, telling students off for petting the Abraxan horses too hard or for being too rough with their wings. Harry wondered idly if Hagrid had got them from Madame Maxime.

Once everyone in the class was either examining the horses or just avoiding Hagrid edgily, Hagrid dragged Harry off several feet away from the rest.

'Dumbledore told me abou' _him_,' Hagrid whispered. 'Are yeh all right, Harry?'

'Sure,' Harry replied. 'No problem. Don't worry about it, Hagrid.'

'An' how can I not worry about _him,_ I ask yeh?' Hagrid said disgustedly. 'S'not that I don' trust Dumbledore, but I don' like the idea of letting _that_ wander freely 'round the school.'

'He's not allowed to wander off. I'm supposed to be watching him.'

'Well, make sure he don' slip away. Mind, I think it's awful unfair for you to have to look after him.'

'It's okay. I'll be fine. If he couldn't beat me when I was twelve, I'm sure I can handle him now,' said Harry, with more confidence in his voice then he felt. But it made Hagrid beam and clap him on the back, saying ''Atta boy, Harry! Don' you let him get you down!' so it was worth a pinch of falsehood, and saying it even made Harry _feel _more confident.

Harry told Hagrid that he'd have to leave class early to get to the North Tower in time to pick up Tom, and Hagrid agreed to let him go without any complaint. So it was that Harry packed up fifteen minutes before class ended and arrived at Divination just as the bell signaling the end of class rang.

Harry waited. No one came out of the classroom. Frowning, he opened the door a bit, wondering if the class was just running late.

There was no one there except Professor Trelawney, humming to herself as she picked up the crystal balls and set tea cups down on the table.

'Professor!' he exclaimed, leaping into the classroom. 'Professor, where is everyone? I'm supposed to be looking after the new student. Where did he go?'

'The Fates informed me that class would end a half-hour early today,' she replied mistily.

'Oh no,' Harry moaned, darting away in panic.

* * *

When Trelawney – who was, without a doubt, the worst professor Tom had ever been subjected to – declared that she was ending class a half-hour earlier than expected, Tom had known exactly what to do with his time. Ditching the Gryffindor girls by saying he had some Arithmancy research to do in the library and promising to see them later in the common room, he raced as fast as his legs would carry him through the halls, except for making a detour and tiptoeing quietly when he heard Peeves cackling up ahead. He reached the library in a little over ten minutes, inwardly cursing Peeves for his delay. Panting, he went to speak with the librarian. 

'Excuse me,' he gasped. She looked down at him with prim disapproval. 'I would like to examine every _Daily Prophet_ printed since September of 1942.'

She looked at him in surprise and her eyes narrowed. 'Whatever for?'

'I'm doing some personal research on the history of the wizarding world for the past century,' Tom replied congenially. 'I covered most of it in my private research over the summer, but I've forgotten a few details of the past fifty years or so that I believe are important for interpreting the current conflict. We can only understand the present by understanding our past, after all. Most of my classmates wouldn't understand my interest,' he added with a tinge of embarrassment, 'so I thought that I'd try to take a quick peek between classes, if that's all right with you, ma'am.'

The lips of the stern librarian quirked ever so slightly, and Tom knew the type well enough to see that he'd be getting his way. 'Very well,' she nodded, and Tom beamed up at her in a way the old woman probably hadn't been smiled at by a student in her life. Her own smile broadened just slightly. 'I'll show you to our collection.'

* * *

Tom had just finished putting the papers away when Harry ran in, looking around frantically and sighing in relief when their eyes met. 

'We'll be late for History of Magic,' Tom said mildly.

'_You_ will be; I don't take it. What have you been doing?' asked Harry sharply, his eyes narrowed.

'If you must know, I was looking myself up in the papers.' Tom picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. 'Shall we go?'

Harry's face had gone white. 'What did you find out? You were only in here for a half hour!'

Tom smirked. 'I used a handy little spell to search for my name in the papers. It makes research very fast, and I found out many intriguing things.' _And you couldn't even keep me from knowing for one day, you foolish little Gryffindor. It'll be a cold day in July before a Gryffindor can keep up with me. Outsmarting you is turning out to be even easier than I thought._

* * *

Harry frowned. How could Tom have found out anything by looking under his own name? All the information would be under 'You-Know-Who', not 'Tom Riddle'. 'What interesting things?' Harry asked suspiciously. 

'Apparently,' Tom went on in a whisper, 'I spent a few decades as a vampire hunter abroad while I immersed myself in the Dark Arts. I then came back to Britain and joined the movement of this You-Know-Who fellow. I don't know why I would do something like that because I don't much like following orders. I'll have to ask myself why if I ever meet myself. I suppose I was one of those Death Eaters.'

'Then, when You-Know-Who fell – I read a bit about him, too – I went into hiding, and I've been there ever since. I suppose he wouldn't be happy if I returned to him after running away – _I _certainly wouldn't be, if I were him – so I've stayed clear of him, too, since he came to power again. Oh, and you're my second cousin twice removed which, I suppose, explains why the crystal thought you were me when I was transported here, assuming it's not too picky. But you already know all this, of course,' he added smugly.

_Don't laugh_. Harry told himself firmly, trying very hard to keep a straight face in the midst of all this misinformation, especially when Tom seemed to think he was so clever to have figured it all out. _Dumbledore,_ Harry thought swiftly. _It had to be Dumbledore._ Of course Dumbledore would have known that Tom would try to find out about himself, so he changed the archives at Hogwarts – even added articles to old_ Daily Prophets_ – to give Tom an entirely different identity! It was brilliant, and now all Harry had to do was play along.

'So you understand why you should keep all that to yourself, then?' asked Harry finally.

Tom appeared contemplative. 'It appears that I've managed to make myself an enemy of Dark beings, the Ministry, and the resident Dark wizard of these parts. It would be foolish to reveal myself.'

'As long as you understand that, then I guess it doesn't hurt for you to know the rest.' Harry shrugged, trying to look resigned.

'And you got that scar from You-Know-Who,' Tom continued, raising an eyebrow. 'He couldn't kill you when you were a baby. Why is that?'

Harry shrugged again. 'I dunno. Lucky, I guess. Come on, I'll walk you to class.'

* * *

Tom wasn't satisfied with this answer, but he accepted it for the time being because he was running late, and followed Harry out of the library.**

* * *

Raehli:** The status quo can't hold out forever, can it? Hehe. 

**Slayerq2000:** Pictures? Oh, oh, I can just see this!

_Voldemort: …Look, and this is me when I was five. Wasn't I a cutie? And that's me on the day I returned from my first year at Hogwarts. Isn't it precious how I made that older boy behind me think he was covered in spiders? Look at him screaming and running around and scratching at his face! I really enjoyed that, it was even worth the warning letter from the Ministry… _

_Four Days Later…_

_Voldemort: …and that's me on the day I received my Award for Special Services to the School! I'm sure I have another photo album around here somewhere. That was only the first box!_

_Pettigrew:…I have to pee…_

_Voldemort: What was that?_

_Pettigrew:…nothing…_

Short(er) answer: No, the Death Eaters haven't seen pictures of Voldemort at a younger age. Why would he want to show them? It would kind of take away from the scary factor. I'm not even entirely sure that he would have any pictures; the people at the orphanage probably didn't take any, but I _suppose_ it would be _possible _for _someone _to find old pictures of Tom from school _somewhere_. Cough.

**TorsKerl:** Thanks for pointing out the error in the first chapter! The one in the sixth _wasn't_ an error, though, but don't let that stop you from picking my words apart because I really want to catch any mistakes. And nightmares will play a big part in the story, but that's all I'll say.

**Monique: **Ah, Quidditch, what a wonderful sport… you'll find out how the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts go in the next chapter! If Harry and Tom will let me get that far, anyway… and I know how you feel about the time travel fics. That's part of why I decided to write this. I like a challenge.

**TheSecretCharacter: **I thought I had things planned out fairly well in my head before I started, but now Tom and Harry just won't shut up and this fic is turning out to be longer than I expected. Not that I'm complaining, because I'm having plenty of fun writing it.


	13. Play With Fire, Anticipate Burns

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Draco Malfoy, meet Tom Maxwell.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** I'm going to Niagara Falls tomorrow, so you probably won't see another update for a few days. This chapter is a bit longer as a result. And nope, there's no Quidditch this chapter, but it's definitely in the next one, I swear. Speaking of things that are supposed to be in this story, I'm sure some of you are wondering if I'm ever going to get around to the slash. Let's just say that Harry might stop entirely despising Tom by mid-September. We're on… September 3rd? Heh. Well, the days _will_ start moving faster, though, once this week is over. And there will be honest-to-goodness slash by Halloween. I promise.

**Chapter Thirteen: Play With Fire, Anticipate Burns**

In the common room that evening, hardly anyone could talk of anything but the breakout from Azkaban. Neville, surprisingly, was the first to ask the obvious question: 'If the Ministry knew that the Dementors weren't loyal, why did it leave them in charge of Azkaban for so long?'

Just as surprisingly, Ron answered before Hermione. 'Numbers. They didn't want to have to spare law enforcement personnel to guard the prison with You-Know-Who on the loose again, so they negotiated with the Dementors and they thought they were back on our side, but that didn't last long, did it?' he said bitterly. 'Dad said this would happen. If they put _him_ in charge –'

'The Minister has ordered the extermination of the Dementors,' interrupted Hermione. 'How on earth could they kill so many of them?'

'Prolonged exposure to a Patronus,' Tom answered calmly. 'If they're trapped with nowhere to run, it's fairly easy to dispose of them that way. The trick is trapping them. I expect they've left Azkaban by now. They're not stupid.'

Tom was sitting in a chair by the fire next to Neville Longbottom, who had taken a shine to him. 'Where do you suppose they'll go?' Neville asked him.

'To You-Know-Who, I expect.' Tom frowned a moment. 'What _is_ his name, anyway?'

'Whose?' Neville asked.

'You-Know-Who.'

'Who's planning to take Potions now that the Ministry's made Snape let people with an 'E' grade into his classes?' Harry asked abruptly. Ron, Hermione and Neville glanced at Harry quickly before replying.

'I was taking it already, so I will, of course,' Hermione said to keep the subject moving.

'I guess I'll take it,' sighed Ron. 'Snape's a git, but so many careers want a Potions N.E.W.T. that it's worth putting up with him.'

'I…' Neville trailed off.

'What-what grade did you get in Potions, Neville?' Hermione asked tentatively.

'I-I got an 'E',' he whispered. 'I did pretty well on the exam.'

'You did?' Harry said. 'That's great! You can take it with us, too.'

He bit his lip. 'I would if it weren't for Snape, but as it is –'

It seemed to be a night for surprises, because it was Tom who said, 'Why let him stop you? You've all said how awful he is, but it seems to me that you'd be letting him destroy an awful lot of opportunities if you didn't take the class just because of him.'

Harry was stunned at these kind and sensible remarks from his nemesis. _Why would _he_ care if Neville takes Potions?_ Harry wondered.

Neville grinned slightly. 'Yeah, I guess you're right.' He looked from Tom to Hermione and back again. 'You'll-you'll help me out, though, won't you? It really isn't my best class.'

'Of course, Neville,' smiled Hermione.

'It will be our pleasure, I'm sure,' said Tom.

Neville was grinning broadly now. 'Okay, then. I'll take it!'

'That's the way, Neville,' said Ron, reaching over from his chair and patting him on the back. 'Don't let that slimeball stop you.'

Harry stared at Tom. Did he _really_ care about Neville, or was it an act? What did he have to gain from it? _You're being stupid,_ Harry told himself angrily. _He's just trying to get in good with everyone so no one gets suspicious about him._ If anything, he had been even more disgustingly friendly since he'd found out the 'truth' about his life.

Tom noticed Harry looking at him and stared back. Their eyes locked. Tom raised an eyebrow and sent him a quick smirk before anyone noticed, then looked back down at his Divination homework.

_He has his first class with the Slytherins tomorrow, _Harry realized. _I hope he behaves…_

* * *

All of the Gryffindor sixth-years, even Tom and Hermione, had a few hours off on Wednesday, and all of them were spending the time doing homework in the common room. At first, Ron had wanted to go flying again, but no one would go with him; they all had far too much work to do. 'I hope they let up when Quidditch season starts,' Ron had said gruffly before pulling out his half-finished Transfiguration essay. 

Tom knew he was further ahead in his work than the rest of them; he only had to finish his History of Magic essay and he'd have a clean slate. The others were much further behind, and they had to practice the spell they had learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts that day; he, Hermione and Harry were the only ones who had perfected it in class. Tom hadn't been surprised by Hermione – he had already noticed that she was unusually intelligent academically, though not at his own level – but Harry had shown no particular talent up until that class. No one else seemed to think it unusual, so it seemed that Harry just happened to be exceptional in Defense. Tom decided he would have to remember that. He recalled the weathered look he had often seen in Harry's eyes and wondered just how much hands-onexperience in the subject the other boy might have had already. _If Dumbledore thinks he can keep me in line, he must have some special abilities._

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville and Tom walked together to Potions. Tom noticed that Neville was becoming increasingly agitated the closer they got to the Potions classroom. He hoped the moron would hold out because he needed a lab partner that would do what he instructed. Who better to fill that role than a boy who was inept and terrified, already begging for help?

They reached Potions and Tom immediately sought the seat next to Neville. The boy looked _so_ appreciative that Tom had to stifle his gag reflex. Instead of vomiting, he smiled back encouragingly in return.

'There's a lot more students than before,' Hermione whispered loudly behind him to Harry and Ron. 'And it looks as though the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs have got their own class now because I don't see them anywhere.'

'Too bad they couldn't have taken the Slytherins with them, too,' muttered Ron.

'I agree, Weasel. Then I wouldn't have to smell _you_,' retorted a blonde boy who had come to stand by their tables, flanked by two large, smirking goons.

Tom took a look at their badges. _Slytherin, thank Salazar,_ he thought. _But they don't seem too bright. Let's find out. _Then, smirking openly, Tom turned in his seat and said, 'What an awful comeback. He _smells_ bad? If you're going to go around making enemies, you should at least be wittier about it.'

The boy's eyes narrowed. 'Huh. You're that new kid, aren't you?' he sneered. 'Go home to your mummy, Mudblood.'

Neville stood up furiously, as did Ron. 'He's not even Muggle-born!' said Neville.

'Well, _my_ family has certainly never interbred with _that_,' sniffed the pale-faced boy. 'So he can't be a pureblood, can he?'

'Stuff yourself, Malfoy,' snarled Ron, his hands flexing into fists.

'Malfoy?' said Tom, trying to ignore the blood insults since he realized they would only sound humorous to a real pureblood. 'Your father just broke out of Azkaban, didn't he? Having a criminal for a father isn't much to brag about, if you ask me. I'm rather glad _my_ family hasn't mixed with _yours._'

Malfoy's nostrils flared. 'You don't want to make an enemy of me,' he said, in what he seemed to presume was a threatening voice. The muscled morons on either side of him flexed their arms.

Tom laughed a high, cold laugh that caught the attention of most of the room. Malfoy looked vaguely disturbed. _This is highly entertaining,_ Tom thought. _The spoiled little idiot thinks he can threaten me?_ 'Excuse me for not being terribly frightened,' Tom remarked once he had managed to stop laughing.

Before Malfoy could respond, Snape swept into the classroom. Glaring at Tom, he walked back to his own table with his accomplices. Neville and Ron sat down, Ron grumbling about the 'great bloody prat.'

'Tom,' Harry said, leaning over and speaking in undertones, 'don't pick a fight. Just stay away from Malfoy.'

'He's a fool,' Tom grumbled to Harry as the others took out their ingredients. While the altercation had been amusing, he was altogether disappointed if _that_ was the best Slytherin had to offer in this time. 'Someone who wants power and influence shouldn't go about alienating everyone,' he whispered to Harry softly. 'He's nothing but a bully, and a short one, at that.'

Harry snorted. 'Just don't get yourself into trouble. He is an arse, though.'

'In today's class,' Snape began as he glanced around, his eyes reaching Neville and a look of deep disgust spreading over his face, 'you will be making a Blood Restorative Potion, and you will be doing it _without_ any instruction from me or a recipe of any kind.'

Frantic mutters could be heard throughout the classroom at this news. 'Silence!' The class quieted down. 'It is time for you to show how much you have learned about the properties of ingredients and the way in which they are prepared without being spoon-fed the solution by me. I will divide you into groups of four and you will complete the potion by the end of this class to the best of your ability, as pathetic as the results will no doubt be.' His looked at Neville again as he said the last bit before he swung his eyes to Tom. 'And we have a new face in our midst. You will keep up or you will leave.'

'That will not be a problem, sir,' Tom replied politely, though he felt rather tempted to reply with a good hex instead.

Snape sneered in response and began creating the groups. 'Mr. Malfoy, you may –'

Malfoy raised his hand.

'Mr. Malfoy?'

'Sir, perhaps you could partner me, Crabbe and Goyle with the new student? We would be glad to assist him and ensure that he does not _endanger_ the rest of the class,' Malfoy said, his eyes gleaming maliciously at Tom.

'I'd like to partner Neville,' Tom replied. 'Would it be possible to have a group of five, Professor?'

'A group with Neville Longbottom in it is short two students by default,' Snape said, his cold eyes on Neville. Neville went pink. 'Very well. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Longbottom and Maxwell. Potter, you may work with Parkinson and Zabini, since there are only twelve in the class and Mr. Malfoy's group has one extra.'

Tom stopped listening and grabbed his ingredients, moving them over to Malfoy's table and beckoning Neville to do the same. Malfoy had unintentionally assisted him in getting away from Harry and, Tom thought nastily, the brat would find that to be a grave error of judgment.

'What are _you_ smiling about?' Malfoy hissed.

'I'm just glad we have the opportunity to get to know each other better. It was terribly unfortunate that we got off to such a bad start,' Tom said, his smile turning into more of smirk.

'Just sit down,' Malfoy growled. 'I don't need apologies from Gryffindors, and you didn't do us any favors by bringing Longbottom along.' Looking cowed, Neville sat next to Tom, who was himself sitting directly across from Malfoy.

'We should start with some powdered unicorn horn,' said Malfoy imperiously.

Tom shook his head in exasperation. 'This is a Blood Restorative Potion. Using unicorn horn would be highly wasteful. It wouldn't harm the potion but it would be just as effective to use a combination of a few less expensive ingredients.'

'Some of us don't have to worry about _expense_,' Malfoy drawled, adding unicorn horn to the cauldron.

'As you wish,' Tom shrugged. 'We should add salamander blood next and stir clockwise six times.'

'Salamander blood is use to strengthen. What does that have to do with restoring blood?' Malfoy asked cockily.

'After stirring clockwise six times, if we add porcupine quills and stewed horned slugs, then stir four times counterclockwise and add a pinch of mandrake, the salamander blood will instead have the effect of strengthening the potion itself instead of the recipient, so less will be necessary for the desired effect,' Tom explained. Malfoy blinked, with Crabbe and Goyle (it didn't matter that he didn't know which was which) staring stupidly. Tom took the opportunity to add the salamander blood, stirring once it stopped fizzling in the cauldron.

'What about some hellebore afterwards?' Malfoy asked.

'Hellebore? That will only make the blood flow more slowly. We're trying to restore blood, not heal injuries.'

'Wormwood?'

'That might do well enough, so long as we add it after the cauldron has come to a boil; otherwise it would work like the hellebore and taste awful, to boot,' Tom responded, his attention on the cauldron as he added the horned slugs and watched the contents turn purple and bubble. While he stirred, he looked around the room.

The other two groups in the class didn't appear to have gotten nearly as far. Harry, Parkinson and Zabini seemed to have added Bundimen secretion, judging by the fumes wafting from the cauldron, which, as far as Tom knew, was only useful in cleaning products. Hermione, Ron, and two other students Tom didn't know the names of were doing slightly better, though they'd made Malfoy's mistake and added Hellebore.

They worked for about an hour in this manner, with Malfoy contributing only occasionally helpful suggestions and Tom doing most of the work. He once handed the cauldron over to Crabbe (or Goyle) to stir it, but they stirred too quickly and Tom had ended up spending ten minutes fixing the potion.

It would have gone well enough if Tom had not still been annoyed by Malfoy's previous threat to him, and if Malfoy had refrained from his provocations as Tom stirred and boiled the ingredients. 'Manual labor,' Malfoy said in a whisper. 'Get used to it, blood-traitor,' he smirked.

Tom saw his chance as he was leaving the potion to cool. Once the steam lessened, Tom reached over and grabbed a vial of bubotuber pus. Uncorking it, he drained the contents into the cauldron.

Malfoy's reaction was just as he had expected. 'You idiot!' Malfoy grabbed for a bezoar and dropped it in, but he kept his hand over the cauldron far too long, waiting to see the effect, and a spark of the potion surged up and splashed him.

'AAAAAAAAHHHHHGGGGHHHH!' Malfoy screamed in pain, holding out his injured hand as the skin began peeling back from it, curling towards his wrist. Pale bone was being revealed. Pansy Parkinson shrieked, and Snape quickly walked over, grabbed Malfoy, and steered him to the front of the class, still screaming and shaking. The professor swiftly opened his cabinet, took out a small bowl full of green goo, and set it on his desk. He then grabbed Malfoy by the arm and pressed his injured hand into the bowl.

Malfoy's shrieks quieted to whimpers as the goo began to rebuild his damaged skin. Snape, satisfied that Malfoy would be all right, marched to the back of the class and fixed his eyes on Neville. 'What. Did. You. Do,' he said in an angry, dangerous whisper.

'Malfoy wasn't paying attention, sir,' Tom replied.

'I don't recall asking you for your opinion, Mr. Maxwell,' Snape said, his lip curled into a sneer.

'I put some bubotuber puss into the potion to make it more consistent, sir,' Tom went on. 'It was stirred improperly earlier. I warned Malfoy that I was going to do this and then quickly drop in a bezoar before the pus could dissolve the daisy roots, but he was not paying attention.' Indeed, Tom _had _mentioned what he was planning to do five minutes earlier – while Malfoy was whispering something to his cronies, naturally.

'It's true, sir,' Neville piped up. 'He did say what he was going to do, but Malfoy panicked and added the bezoar himself, and then his hand got burned.'

'The potion would, of course, be volatile until I added in the fluxweed,' Tom said.

Snape was glaring. He picked up some fluxweed from Tom's ingredients, held his hand high above the spitting cauldron, and dropped it in. The potion immediately calmed and turned a pleasant light orange color. Snape sniffed the fumes and frowned.

'Full marks for your group, then, and bonus points to Mr. Malfoy for knowing to counteract the bubotuber pus with a bezoar.' Snape then stalked away. Tom glared at his back before allowing himself to return to smirking as Snape picked Malfoy's hand up out of the goo – likely a Skin Regrowth Paste – and caused Malfoy to shriek in pain again. Snape shook his head and dunked the hand back under.

The potion complete, Tom stoppered a sample for Snape, humming softly to himself, and put away his ingredients. As he did so, Neville leant in to whisper, 'Awesome.' Ron, coming over to borrow some of their ingredients, said, 'About time that ferret was skinned,' and winked at him. Tom wondered what the ferret reference was about.

Harry's comments after class were less complimentary.

'He called you a few names so you burned his hand off!' Harry breathed frantically to Tom as they walked to dinner.

'Just the skin,' Tom whispered back leeringly, his mouth curled into a vicious grin which he hid again before anyone else saw, but not before he added to Harry, 'Those who play with fire must anticipate some burns.' Tom himself had never shied away from pain – it was a necessary step to greatness, he knew – and he saw Malfoy's pathetic reaction to be yet another sign that he was far from being a worthy addition to Salazar Slytherin's ranks.

The group entered the Great Hall and met up with Seamus and Dean. 'How was Potions?' Dean asked. 'You couldn't drag _me_ back into that class, that's for sure.'

Ron and Neville related the story in detail to the others. Even Hermione couldn't really fault Tom for what had happened, since he _had _warned Malfoy, after all.

'Damn it,' Seamus groaned. 'The one Potions class that would have been worth going to, and we're not even taking the subject anymore!'

Hermione started asking Tom technical questions about his potion and their conversation continued until Ron practically exploded out of his seat. 'Come on, you lot! Quidditch tryouts!'  
**

* * *

ilovetorock92:** Hmm… I'd say that's at _least_ six chapters away. It may seem like a long time, but now that Tom's stopped looking for info on himself and since no one says You-Know-Who's name… let's just say there will probably even be some of that elusive slash I keep talking about before Tom finds out.

**Ace of Black Hearts:** Possibly…


	14. Slightly Lukewarm Comfort

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Quidditch tryouts!  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** Back from Niagara and ready to continue the story!

**Chapter Fourteen: Slightly Lukewarm Comfort**

Harry and Ron got up to leave the table; Katie Bell and Ginny walked toward them as they did so in response to Ron's previous loud declaration.

'It's time,' Katie said, with nervousness making her voice shake. 'I hope we have better tryouts than last time. Most of the candidates last year were pretty awful – er, no offense, Ron,' she added, her face going red.

Ron shrugged. 'Right, let's go. You coming, Tom?' he asked, his eyes hopeful.

'No,' Tom replied. 'Thanks anyway, but I'm not much of a Quidditch fan.'

'What do you mean?' Ginny said through gritted teeth, glaring at him. 'You have to come, doesn't he, Harry?'

'Yes, he does. Come on, Tom,' Harry said, crossing his arms and waiting.

'Why does he have to go?' asked Hermione. 'If you're worrying about him getting lost, I'll keep an eye on him until after the tryouts, if you like.'

_No way, _thought Harry, _definitely not after what he pulled in Potions._ 'Hermione, Dumbledore wants me to watch him, okay?' he said desperately, begging the powers that be that she would ask no more questions.

'I don't see why,' Tom said, finally looking up from his plate. 'I'll be fine with Hermione, thanks, Harry.'

'Tom,' Harry cried softly, despairingly. '_Please?_'

'Come on,' said Ron cajolingly. 'It should be fun to laugh at the ones who nearly fall off their broomsticks. And you'll have plenty of time tonight for homework; the tryouts will only be an hour or so.'

'I'd really like you to watch,' Harry added calmly, now that Ron's input had given him a chance to collect himself. 'If you want to do homework, you could read in the stands. It's not even dark yet.'

'Actually, that sounds like a rather appealing idea,' said Hermione. 'I wouldn't mind getting some fresh air after being down in the dungeons so long. I'll watch, too.'

'Then I'll go,' Tom said decisively, his eyes locking on Harry's. Harry could distinctly feel that Tom was thinking something like _you owe me one, Potter,_ but he was too thankful that he didn't have to do any more arm-twisting to care about what Tom thought Harry owed him.

'Great, let's go!' Ron grinned, rubbing his hands together.

* * *

Tom was highly irritated by this turn of events. He hated being outside; his pale skin tended to sunburn easily – though he did put a Sunblock Charm on himself, so this wasn't really an issue. What he truly hated was that his eyes were inevitably drawn to the skies –to the Gryffindors soaring high in the air, passing the Quaffle to Katie Bell and Andrew Kirke, a Beater on the team who Harry had introduced to Tom on the pitch before the tryouts began. Tom watched the contestants' mostly inept attempts to pass and their wholly inept attempts to score on Ron Weasley. The only one who scored was that annoying Ginny Weasley, but from what Hermione told him – she wasn't working, either – Quidditch was something of a family talent. 

Tom attempted to continue his work whenever one student was coming down and another was going up, but to no avail. As much as he hated Quidditch – and he did hate it; it was an utterly stupid and pointless activity that he had no patience with – he always had found himself attending Quidditch games at school against his own better judgment. He was entranced by watching the players zoom around like speedy little mosquitoes. He didn't particularly care who scored what – though he did, of course, cheer whenever Slytherin scored, if he happened to notice – and he only ever knew that a game had ended when people around him shouted or booed at the top of their lungs.

'Euan Abercrombie!' Ron called out as he soared low across the pitch. A boy who looked to be a second-year climbed eagerly up onto his broom.

The person Tom liked to watch most was Harry. His only job in this practice session seemed to be to fly around the contender's legs and pretend to nearly fly straight into them, to make sure they didn't get distracted – or worse – by the Seeker as he flew after the Golden Snitch. One girl had shrieked and let go of her broom. She had nearly fallen off, but managed to latch her ankles onto it just in time, so she fell upside down and her robes went over her head. Tom and Hermione had both chuckled at that. Otherwise, Harry seemed content to fly high and do daring tricks, which mesmerized Tom for the most part, though he snapped out of it every few minutes and, disgusted with himself, went back to his reading; he had yet to turn the page.

Euan Abercrombie was the last; when he was done, the team soared back to the ground, and Tom couldn't help but be a little disappointed that it was over. He saw the team ushering the hopefuls out of the stadium. Hermione stood up and walked down the stands towards the team; Tom followed suit.

When the two reached the players, Ron spoke immediately. 'They were horrific, weren't they?' he cried wretchedly, sitting on the steps to the bleachers with his head in his hands. Hermione nodded, her eyes wide, biting her lip. The rest of the team appeared downcast.

'We have to choose two of them,' Katie Bell sighed. 'Ginny Weasley, obviously,' she said, her eyes on Ron, 'but she was the only decent one. I absolutely cannot work with Elladora Nutcombe. She's not such a bad flyer, but every mistake she made she blamed on me not watching her movements properly so I could be in the right place to catch! She's not a team player at all!'

'Alright, alright,' said Ron, waving his hands. 'No Elladora Nutcombe, then. Pity, because she was second best to Ginny. Heck, she was the only one aside from Ginny who could fly straight.' He looked at Katie hopefully, but she frowned and shook her head, unwilling to back down.

Ron sighed. 'None of the rest was any good at all. We're going to need another good Chaser if we're to beat Slytherin handily.' He glanced at Hermione. 'You wouldn't be considering trying out, would you? You couldn't do worse.'

'You must be mad! With all the classes I'm taking, practice Quidditch three times a week!' Hermione shrieked, as if the very thought was enough to make her have a breakdown.

'What about you, Tom?' Ron asked, a predatory gleam in his eye. 'You could at least try! You _have_ to be better than the jokers who just tried out!'

'He seems friendly enough,' Katie considered, nodding. 'He'd be a decent team player, I think.'

_Like hell I would_, Tom thought indignantly. He opened his mouth to refuse, but Harry got there before him.

'Ginny doesn't like him, though!' Harry said, his eyes wide in panic. 'And-and he hasn't played Quidditch before at all!'

'What do you mean, Ginny doesn't like him? How could she not like him if she's only known him since Monday? And you hadn't played Quidditch before you got on the team, either,' Ron pointed out.

'I can't see what I've done to offend Ginny Weasley!' Tom said, momentarily more annoyed by the idea of her disliking him for no apparent reason – well, aside from a murder he had probably committed before her mother was born – than by getting roped into trying out for Quidditch.

This was all the opening Ron required. 'Exactly, you're a nice enough bloke, now, you can use Sloper's broom, here –' Ron grabbed Jack Sloper's broom out of his hands abruptly and thrust it to Tom, 'and go through a few passes to Katie and Andrew, go on, then.'

And, before Tom could catch up with what was happening, Ron, Katie, and the two Beaters had crowded round him and were pushing him towards the pitch. He could vaguely hear Hermione's cries of 'But he's got as many classes as I do! He doesn't have time for Quidditch!' as he was marched off, but no one else seemed to hear her.

'I don't know if this is a good idea,' Harry said, grabbing Ron by the shoulder.

'Don't worry, Harry!' Ron called back to Harry loudly, not taking his eyes away from Tom, who was now being prodded and encouraged by the other three leading him all at once, so Tom couldn't really hear what they were telling him.

Tom reached the pitch and was released. 'I'm honestly not very –'

'Oh, go on then!' Ron grinned. 'Get up!'

Tom mounted the broomstick. He had never been very good at that part, and he saw Ron cringe as he got on clumsily. Some of his enthusiasm faded. 'Okay, then, up!' Ron cried, motioning to the air with his hands.

Tom didn't know how it happened, but he couldn't remember kicking off at all. It seemed to him like the broom was obeying Ron's command rather than his, because Tom knew that the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was go into the air. He clutched at the broomstick hard as it climbed higher and higher, and then, when he wished more than anything else in the world that it would stop, its upward climb ceased, and it evened out high in the air. He was still going very fast, though, and heading towards the stands.

_I'm going to die…_

* * *

'Look at him go!' said Ron, his eyebrows raised as he watched Tom come close to missing the bleachers. 'He's pretty good at turning, isn't he?' 

Harry felt ill. He kicked off from the ground and flew high and fast, catching up with Tom quickly and flying steadily about twenty feet to his right as Tom circled the pitch. Harry absently noticed Katie, Andrew and Ron flying up, but he kept his focus on Tom, who didn't look too well.

'Oi, Tom!' Ron called as Tom passed him. 'Come over here.'

Tom came over, all right; the broom swerved and came right back at high speed, directly towards Harry. The team looked on in alarm as Tom headed on a collision course; then, at the last second, like a bizarre sort of horizontal Wronski Feint, he came to a halt, nearly flying off his broom at the abruptness of his stop.

'Well, good, you can stop,' said Ron. 'All right, let's try some passing.'

Harry wondered for a moment if Ron had lost his mind; couldn't he see how white Tom's face was, how tightly he was clutching the handle of the broom, and how violently his shoulders were shaking? But none of the others seemed to notice, either, and Katie threw the Quaffle to him. To Harry's surprise, Tom reached out to catch it unthinkingly, still staring straight forward in shock. Then, a second or two later, it seemed to have reached Tom's mind that he'd caught it, and he turned his head to stare at it as though it were a crystal ball showing someone's horrendous fate.

'Well, come on, pass it back!'  
_

* * *

I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie…_

* * *

Tom didn't do half badly; he was able to complete a few simple passes and, while he couldn't get the Quaffle past Ron, he hadn't thrown it right at the Keeper, unlike some of the hopefuls. When they got back to the ground, though, Harry could see he needed a little help getting off his broom, and he was barely able to stand on his own once Harry had helped him dismount. Once on his feet, barely, Tom started staring right through Harry's eyes as though Harry was wearing his Invisibility Cloak. He seemed to Harry to be in a state of shock and Harry, despite himself, felt rather sorry for him for more than a brief moment. 

'Congratulations, you're on the team!' Ron cried, slapping Tom on the back. Harry immediately caught Tom around the shoulders to prevent him falling over. 'First practice is Saturday morning! You'll have to order a broom, too, but you can use the school ones until you get your own.'

Tom then looked at Ron, staring through him the same way he had stared through Harry, though Tom's mouth had started to open and close, too. Ron, looking discomfited, mumbled something about posting the results, and walked off to the changing rooms. The rest of the team, giving Tom encouraging smiles, walked back as well. Tom turned again to stare at Harry, though his gaze was gradually losing its blankness and his eyes were managing to move instead of keeping straight forward.

'Oh, this is silly!' Hermione hissed. 'Tom doesn't have time for Quidditch!'

Harry looked from Hermione to Tom and back again twice before biting his lip, sighing, and saying, 'Look, Tom, I'll help, it's-it's not so bad, flying, once you get used to it, and you were decent, mostly.'

Tom just nodded; he'd stopped opening his mouth, and now it looked as though he'd developed lockjaw. Tom was going to be okay, Harry reminded himself, even though he looked as though he'd just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

_Somehow_, Harry thought grimly, _I don't think this is what Dumbledore had in mind._

* * *

'Your friend is nutters,' Tom said once Hermione had gone back up to the bleachers to grab her books and his mouth was working properly again. Tom didn't know how he'd done it; he hadn't flown much at all before except _very_ low to the ground to get to and from the Forbidden Forest on the beat-up old school brooms. Each time during the tryout when he had thought he was going to die any second, the broom had done exactly what was necessary to avoid disaster, as if answering Tom's mental pleas to not end up as a red stain on the highest bleachers. 

'Yeah,' Harry sighed. He slung his broom over his shoulder. 'Look, just don't muck up on purpose, okay? Don't throw the matches.'

Tom looked at him as though he'd just said the most absurd thing in the world. 'Why would I make mistakes on purpose when I'm sixty feet in the air and clinging to nothing but a stick of wood?' he growled. 'You're as nutters as he is! I'm not suicidal and I don't want to be on your ruddy Quidditch team!'

Harry glared up at Tom. 'Fine, go tell Ron that, then. Go tell the Gryffindors that you're too frightened to play Quidditch for your house. That will go over really well with your fan club, that will.'

Tom had come to the same conclusion even before he had objected to being on the team, but it had still felt nice to voice his annoyance. It was all Harry's fault for insisting that he come down to the pitch with him, after all. Tom rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes hopelessly. 'I can't believe I'm going to risk my life for Gryffindor honor,' he grumbled.

Hermione came back down, and Tom plastered on his usual smile, though it was harder to put on than usual.

'Don't _worry_,' Harry said, rolling his eyes. Lowering his voice, he hissed, 'much as I would like to let you fall off your broomstick, I promised the Headmaster I'd look after you.'

_That_, thought Tom, _is cold comfort, indeed._

Nevertheless, much of his remaining unease left him. He knew how hilariously stoic Gryffindors could be and that they could usually be trusted – _the fools_ – not to go back on their word, at least not the stupid ones like Potter; Dumbledore was another matter entirely. Besides, he knew how well the Quidditch stars were regarded in his own time; if this was at all the same, he'd be popular and _powerful _again in no time. Once he gained their complete trust and admiration, it would be an easy matter to slip away from Harry whenever necessary; with a few well-placed words, they'd probably help Tom escape him. In the end, this situation could easily turn to Tom's advantage. However, there was still a missing piece to this puzzle:

_Where am I going to get a broom?_  
**

* * *

TheSecretCharacter:** As Dumbledore explained, Tom _can't_ go back to his own time. He's stuck where he is.

**Unfortunately Freckled:** Yes, there will be slash before Tom discovers his true identity.

**ddtrunks77: **Dumbledore has kept Tom's true identity secret from most of the staff… and don't forget that Snape is hardly the best at keeping important secrets (case in point: Lupin).


	15. Letting Your Hair Down

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom and Harry have a pleasant discussion… well, they don't have their wands out, anyway.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** My God, I actually accomplished everything I wanted to get done in this chapter! Mwahahahaha! There's a first time for everything. Don't expect this madness to continue.

**Chapter Fifteen: Letting Your Hair Down**

Thursday morning brought with it Tom's second Divination class of the week; to Harry's great relief, however, Tom was not let out early. Harry met him at the entrance to the very top of the North Tower when class was over and walked with him and the other Gryffindors who took Divination, Parvati and Lavender, to Transfiguration. Harry wished the two of them could keep their swooning over Tom to a minimum. Tom didn't act as though he minded, but Harry was starting to find the flirting and giggling annoying. On the other hand, it meant that he didn't have to talk with Tom much, himself, which was best for them both.

When they reached Transfiguration, Harry found Professor McGonagall staring grimly at the door, as though she was anticipating something wretched coming through it. Then he noticed her grimace as she caught sight of Tom. Tom, himself, stopped in the doorway at the look she was giving him. Parvati and Lavender nearly walked into his back.

Tom was squinting hard. 'Do I… do I know you?' he asked tentatively.

'I imagine not,' Professor McGonagall replied curtly. 'If you would kindly take your seat, Mr. _Maxwell_, and stop clogging up the entrance to my classroom, it would be greatly appreciated.' McGonagall turned back to her desk, rustling a pile of homework papers already sitting upon it.

Tom walked out of the entranceway, but did not sit down. He instead headed to the Professor's desk.

McGonagall was, it seemed, still watching him closely out of the corner of her eye, because she turned back to him abruptly and said, 'I believe I told you to sit down, Mr. Maxwell.'

'I need to hand in my assignment, Professor,' Tom replied, swinging his backpack off his shoulders and digging into it for his parchment.

'Oh,' Professor McGonagall said, 'Very well, then.' She then turned completely away from him, towards the blackboard, and stood there for a moment looking confused, as though she was trying to remember what to write.

Harry noticed Tom staring at her back. He placed his homework very slowly onto her desk, and his eyes traveled up to the back of her head.  
_

* * *

That hair!_ Tom thought. _It's –_

'Minnie?' he croaked in surprise. 'Minnie McGonagall?'

McGonagall swooped back around to face him. 'Excuse me, but I am _not_ on a first-name basis with my students, Mr. Maxwell, let alone a pet name basis.' Despite the firmness of her words, her voice was shaky as she spoke them.

'You _are _her!' he grinned.

Tom looked anxiously around, but no one else seemed to be paying any attention to the conversation taking place between the Professor and the new student. Relieved, he turned back to her, lowering his voice. 'Long time no see.'

'Not long enough. Take your seat,' she said curtly, glaring at him.

'So you _do_ know who I am!'

'If I have to repeat myself again, it will mean a detention!'

'Fine,' Tom said grumpily, stomping off to an empty seat next to the aisle. Harry followed, making Tom scoot his chair forward so Harry could take the seat beside him.

* * *

'What was _that_ all about?' Harry asked quietly. Hermione and Ron hadn't made it to class yet, and Parvati and Lavender had already taken seats two rows away, so they were safe from prying ears, but it was still better to be safe and speak softly. 

'Minnie McGonagall,' Tom grunted. 'Head Girl in my day; she _was_ a year older than me. Never did let her hair down,' he added wryly. 'That stick up her arse has only gotten thicker through the years, I see.'

Harry tried his best not to grin, but the thought of a student version of Professor McGonagall with her hair in a tight bun, walking primly through the hallways as if she had dung under her nose, was too funny. Tom was looking at him and he smiled, too, and Harry thought for once that it might be real.

The class was fine until near the end; Harry wondered idly, later, why Tom had a predisposition for making trouble right near the end. Lord Voldemort had a penchant for attacking Harry late in his school year, and Tom seemed to enjoy leaving his mischief until the last quarter of class. It was just as Hermione was transfiguring her fourth textbook into a Crookshanks-sized cat, taking further copious notes on which limbs had a tendency to fully transform first, that it began. Parvati, at the front of the class, let out a surprised shriek as something shot right past her and pinged loudly off the wall to her left. Another something nearly hit Neville, but bounced off the edge of the desk beside him instead as he ducked it. Professor McGonagall looked around for the source of the disturbance as the third object shot out and made a tiny ring as it hit the brass door handle.

They started coming faster after that. The class was in chaos as everyone dropped under their desks, at least two dozen of the little things shooting around them, and more appearing by the second. The things didn't stop once they hit an object, but instead kept bouncing around the room. Harry managed to grab one just as it was zooming past his ear and examined it.

It was a long, black hairpin. Harry's eyes went wide and his jerked his head over to look at Tom for the first time since the mysterious event had begun. Tom looked entirely unconcerned about what was transpiring – in fact, he let out a great, gaping yawn as several of them bounced off the desk they were both sitting under.

Tom returned his gaze. 'What?' Tom asked, a small grin forming on his lips. 'Is my head on backwards?'

Harry turned to Professor McGonagall, who had at some point in the past few moments discovered that _she_ was the source of the disturbance. Her hairpins were escaping their nest and flying across the room as dangerous projectiles. She was pulling out her wand and pointing it at each of them in turn, saying a spell that Harry couldn't hear over the noise in the room, and each fell to the ground or onto a desk as it was immobilized.

But there were a great many of them, and it was taking her quite a while. Hermione, it seemed, had figured out what spell McGonagall was using, and started helping out. Tom, too, got out from under the desk and helped halt several of the rampaging hairpins.

When there were no more left, the rest of the class tentatively came out of hiding. Professor McGonagall looked more furious than Harry had ever seen her, and she was directing it all slightly to the right of him, at Tom.

She stomped up to their desk and turned on him. 'Mr. Maxwell, _what_ do you think you are doing?'

Tom frowned. 'I was just helping to get these things in the air to stop shooting around, ma'am,' he replied guilelessly.

'How dare you, you –!'

But the rest of the class was watching her now in confusion. Parvati and Lavender came to Tom's defense immediately. 'Professor, Tom would never –'

'He didn't have a thing to do with –'

'He was taking notes right in front of me when it started!' cried Hermione. Ron, Harry noticed, looked a bit annoyed with her interference. 'It can't have been him, Professor!'

McGonagall opened and closed her mouth several times, her fury seeming so great that she couldn't put it into words. The class was staring at her apprehensively for the most part, though a few were glancing bemusedly at her long grey hair, now released from its usual confines. Finally, she spoke.

'That will be all for today. Please leave the classroom immediately,' she said shakily, clenching her fists and stomping away. Tom, Harry noticed, was wearing a slightly confused pout on his face, which seemed to confirm to everyone except Harry that he had been unjustly accused.

As they left the class, Parvati and Lavender kept saying over and over that they couldn't imagine what had gotten in to Professor McGonagall to treat a new student that way, and Hermione, too, was speaking her disapproval of McGonagall's attempt to blame the bizarre incident on Tom. 'Though I suppose it would make sense, from her point of view,' Hermione said, 'since nothing like that has ever happened before, and it _did_ happen on his first day of class…'

'But I saw him taking notes!' Hermione kept muttering to herself, her eyes fixed on the back of Tom's head. 'He couldn't have done it… could he?'

Harry, of course, had no doubt at all about who was the culprit.

Tom said he needed to go to the loo before lunch; the others walked to the Great Hall, and Harry went with Tom. He saw Tom check to see that the bathroom was clear; then he turned to Harry, a delirious smile on his face.

'I always loved doing that to her. It drove her mad because she never _could_ prove it was me. Some things never change,' he said wryly.

Harry glared at him. Tom seemed surprised at this. 'What are you so grumpy about? That little prank didn't hurt anyone,' he grumbled defensively, crossing his arms. 'She deserved it for being so rude to me before class. Maybe next time she'll think twice about being nasty.'

'I'll tell,' Harry said, his eyes narrowed.

Tom rolled his eyes. 'Are you really so daft? She already _knows_!'

This time, it was Harry's turn to smile. 'Ever heard of a Pensieve, Tom? I could show her the whole confession you just gave me.'

Tom blinked and took a step back, looking at Harry in disbelief. 'You don't have a Pensieve!'

'Dumbledore does,' Harry replied smoothly, stepping forward into the space Tom had just occupied. 'And if you pull a joke like that again, I'll show him.'

'You didn't seem to think of this when it was a _Slytherin_ I was bothering!' Tom growled. 'Gryffindors. You're all the same,' he added with a great deal of disgust.

'Malfoy was-was different!' Harry argued.

'Why? Because I hurt someone that time instead of merely disrupting class? So it's fine by you, then, if I break an arm or two, but not if I shoot little objects around the room?' Tom shouted, his fists balled at his side and his arms shaking in fury.

'No!' said Harry. 'It's… it's because…' but Harry couldn't think of a single reasonable argument, so he just sighed. 'Look, you're right,' he said.

Tom raised an eyebrow and the tension in his limbs decreased. 'I am?'

'Yeah. You're right. I didn't think of it with Malfoy because… well, I guess I kind of thought he deserved it, too. He and I have never been the best of friends,' Harry admitted with a shrug. He looked seriously up at Tom. 'But I'm still going to tell if you pull any more pranks… well,' he grinned, 'unless they're _really_ well deserved.'

Tom looked at Harry contemplatively. 'You know, you're not really all that bad for a Gryffindor,' he said absently, drumming a finger on his chin. 'That whole plot to show your conversations with me to Dumbledore was pretty well-conceived. Almost Slytherin, really. Mind you,' he added softly, looking Harry in the eye with a deadly sort of gleam that would have made Harry squirm if he wasn't trying hard not to, 'if I were you, I wouldn't have told me about it first, especially not alone.'

Harry found this to be an ironic thing to hear from someone who had just confessed his crimes to a known enemy, but he didn't mention it. 'I'm not afraid of you,' Harry said sternly.

'No, you're not, are you?' Tom replied, leaning back into a contemplative pose again. 'Why is that, I wonder? You know I'm a murderer, yet you don't seem too worried about me offing you.'

'You wouldn't dare,' Harry said in a deep, threatening voice. 'Dumbledore would –'

'Yes, yes, Dumbledore would throw me out, but that's not all of it, is it, Harry?' he asked, frowning at the look in Harry's eyes. 'There's something else… you're just not afraid of me. You think you could stop me if I tried to kill you, don't you?'

The conversation was reminding Harry forcefully of the one he had had with this very individual years before, deep in the Chamber of Secrets. The tone of his voice was just like Tom Riddle's had been then, as he was prodding Harry to tell him why he had lived through Voldemort's attempted murder on him as a baby. It was the tone he had when there was a mystery he wanted to have solved, an itch he couldn't scratch, and the memory, far from making Harry nervous, made him smile. He defeated Tom Riddle then, and he could defeat Tom Maxwell now.

'Yeah, that's right,' said Harry. 'I think I could.'

'Is that a challenge!' Tom hissed.

Harry didn't have a chance to reply, because the bathroom door swung open and three third-year Hufflepuffs walked in. Harry headed for the door, and Tom followed.

As they walked to the Great Hall together, however, Harry leaned toward him and whispered. 'No, it's not. I don't want to fight you.' _It's not like I need any more enemies. No need to egg him on.

* * *

No, it's not. I don't want to fight you._ The words twirled around in Tom's brain as he lay awake in bed that night. The whole conversation had been one of the most absurd Tom had ever had. No one, _no one_, told him what to do, and no one would ever dare threaten him. Yet this scrawny, foolish Gryffindor of no more than average intellect and magical ability seemed to be under the impression that he could defeat Tom, if it came down to it.

But he didn't _want_ to defeat him, or so he claimed. He just wanted Tom to cease his mischief and be a good boy, exactly like Dumbledore. _Why?_

Tom didn't like not being able to understand his enemies. He wondered, for the first time since he'd arrived, if Harry actually _could_ triumph against him. After all, he did defeat that You-Know-Who fellow, who Tom had served, when he was just a baby. Maybe he had some special powers? _If he does, he hides them well,_ Tom thought mockingly.

Still, if he had to have one of those Gryffindors watching his every move, Harry wasn't the worst choice. He was certainly the most Slytherin Gryffindor Tom had ever encountered; he was cunning, a survivor. Tom could respect that. Not bloodthirsty enough, maybe, and idealistic, but that could only work to Tom's advantage.

_Ugh, I'm wasting too much time thinking about him. It's because I don't have any good books; I'm simply bored silly. I've already memorized our textbooks. If only they would let me into the Restricted Section…_

* * *

Harry, in the bed to Tom's right, was having a dream. He was flying high, high up into the air, higher than he had ever had before, and Sirius was flying next to him, insistently shouting over the roaring wind 'Clear your mind, Harry!'… But the wind got stronger, and Sirius was blown away. Far, far below, Harry could make out a pinprick of a figure, black, and he flew down toward it, faster than he ever had before. And there was Tom, sitting on his broom, clutching it in terror as the wind whipped around him. Harry was close, so close, and he was reaching out his hand – why, he didn't know – and Tom was reaching up to him as well, but the wind blew him away seconds before their fingers touched. Harry tried to fly toward him, but the wind changed direction and was beating him backwards, and Tom was falling, falling… 

Many miles away, Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, and he wondered.  
**

* * *

wizzan:** Good question. It depends upon what you mean by slash… if you mean actual physical touching, etcetera, then four chapters from now at the earliest.

**Black Perla: **I'll drop by your profile soon! Always up for some good slash!


	16. Being Disappointing

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom gets a broom, Dumbledore gets angry, and Rita Skeeter gets a clue.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** Keep the reviews coming! I appreciate all the support. I finally get to skip a day! Die, Friday, die! This chapter is a touch melancholy, and there is absolutely no Harry, which means no Harry/Tom :(

**Chapter Sixteen: Being Disappointing**

It was a balmy Saturday afternoon, and Tom's robes were clinging to his sweaty skin uncomfortably as he made his way up to the Headmaster's office. Quidditch practice that morning had been a fiasco; Harry had spent a good fifteen minutes teaching Tom how to mount a broom and hold on properly while the rest of the team warmed up. Tom hated being slow at catching on; he hated not being the best; he _hated_ being disappointing. He had left practice feeling useless and frustrated after his continuing failure to score on Ron, and sore because he still wasn't very good at stopping or turning smoothly. The other team members had said he was loads better than he had been during tryouts, though, so he supposed that was something.

This was the first time Tom had walked by himself since his early dismissal in Divination. Harry was always watching him, except early Thursday evening when Harry had remedial Potions with Snape. Tom thought it a bit absurd that someone with an 'E' O.W.L. should be doing remedial work, and he had a suspicion that there was something more to it, but Ginny Weasley had watched Tom like a hawk for the whole time Harry was gone, so he hadn't had any chance to investigate. At least she had toned down her outward dislike of him; Tom wondered if Harry or Dumbledore had discussed it with her because she had made a concerted effort to be polite and even encouraging during Quidditch practice.

Tom rode the spiral staircase up to the door, which was open, and went inside.

'You wanted to see me, Headmaster?' Tom said formally.

'Yes, Tom, I did.' Dumbledore was facing the window when Tom entered, but turned around when as he spoke. He was smiling delightedly. 'I hear you have made the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I don't remember you being very good at flying,' he remarked.

'I'm not, sir.'

'Good, good,' Dumbledore said, still smiling and looking at Tom with those twinkling eyes. 'It's best to work on one's weaknesses as well as one's strengths, as I know you are aware. You're not clumsy on a broom in this time, as I recall. It is not a skill that comes naturally to you, but you've never shied away from a challenge. And how are you getting along with the Gryffindors?'

'Well enough, sir.' _Let's just get this over with, shall we?_

'You'll need a broom for Quidditch,' Dumbledore said.

Tom had forgotten about that, although he had been reminded of it only hours before as the others on the team complained that Tom couldn't keep up on one of the school's Shooting Stars. The old Shooting Stars still had more speed in them than the Moontrimmers the school had used in his day; Tom didn't think he could stand flying any faster. 'Yes, sir.' A beetle flew on to the arm of his chair, and he absently swatted it off. He thought he could almost hear it buzzing louder in distress.

'You don't know much about the brooms of our time, I suppose… I've been reading up on them recently, myself. The school brooms are getting a touch ratty – it's a terrible shame, I always liked the Shooting Stars, so many wonderful times, and such a nice name…' Dumbledore appeared lost in reverie for a few moments, and Tom was becoming concerned that he'd soon be listening to Dumbledore rant on about those 'wonderful times' for an hour or two, but he came back to reality and said, 'I've decided on some Cleansweep 9s for the school. The Cleansweep 11 that came out last year would serve you well, I think. It doesn't go _too_ fast,' Dumbledore added, as if sensing Tom's concern, which he probably was. 'And I'll get a Twigger 90 for myself. They sound like such fun!'

'That's-that's too generous, sir –'

'We've been through this before, have we not?' Dumbledore said pointedly. 'It's all part of your cover.'

'I don't need to be on the Quidditch team for my cover.'

'But your parents would be able to afford a broom for you, and they'd be very pleased to buy you one, and excited that you made the team. In fact,' Dumbledore added thoughtfully, 'you ought to expect a letter from them on Monday at breakfast. They're not used to being separated from you and miss you terribly. I imagine they'll send you plenty of sweets, as well.'

Tom felt distinctly uncomfortable hearing about these imaginary parents of his. Dumbledore didn't get a chance to say anything more, though, because five people walked brusquely into the office at that very moment.

'Minister,' Dumbledore smiled at the man in front, waving him over to one of five chairs that had appeared when Tom wasn't looking. _This,_ Tom supposed, _must be the Minister for Magic in this time_. The man was a short, portly fellow with a thick head of dark gray hair and a bushy gray moustache. He was wearing entirely black robes and appeared to be all business by the way he strode across the room and sat swiftly in the middle of the five new chairs. The others took seats alongside him.

Dumbledore greeted the two people sitting to the immediate right and left of the Minister first. 'Williamson, a pleasure to see you! And you as well, Kingsley,' Dumbledore said. Then he turned to the person to the far right of the Minister, whose bright red hair made him stand out from the others. 'And you, Mr. Weasley – and you, Rita,' he concluded, with a touch of hardness to his voice that wasn't present as he spoke to the other four when he addressed the outrageously dressed woman sitting next to Tom. Her hair was ruffled and her clothes wrinkled, as if she'd been walking around in the wind, but the air outside was still. 'What brings all of you here on such a beautiful Saturday afternoon?'

'We need to discuss a serious matter, Dumbledore,' the Minister said gruffly.

'I'm all ears, Zedekiah,' Dumbledore smiled, resting his head in his hands and gazing intently at the Minister. Tom noticed both Weasley – who looked quite a bit like Ron Weasley except for his horn-rimmed spectacles, so Tom supposed he must be a brother or cousin – and the woman beside him writing furiously, though she was doing so with a green quill that wrote on its own.

'I have been concerned, Dumbledore, about shoring up our defenses, and I am a touch concerned that – well, I don't mean to say that you are lax yourself, Albus,' the Minister said, bowing his head in deference. 'But I am concerned that we will not have enough manpower to defeat He Who Must Not Be –'

The Minister turned abruptly to Tom and said, his mustache rolling with each syllable, 'Perhaps the boy might be removed for the moment?'

'Oh, there's no need for that,' Dumbledore said cheerfully, still leaning his head on his hands.

'Are you… are you quite sure?' The Minister seemed reluctant to continue with Tom present, but also reluctant to compel him to leave without Dumbledore's support, and Tom wasn't about to volunteer to leave when the conversation was this intriguing.

'I'm sure, Zed. He's a good lad, a friend of Harry Potter's, actually.'

'Oh, well, I certainly don't mean to – never mind, then.' Apparently he wasn't willing to give any insult to a friend of Harry Potter. Tom thought Dumbledore was being a bit liberal with the use of the word 'friend,' but he wasn't tempted to correct him. 'Albus,' the Minister continued, taking a steadying breath, 'I want to start a recruiting campaign here at Hogwarts for the Magical Law Enforcement Department. You know, a few posters, a few Aurors and Hit Wizards coming in to talk to the students, maybe a little extra instruction after hours, that sort of thing.'

'I wasn't aware that the numbers weren't sufficient,' Dumbledore replied, his gaze more serious now than it was a moment ago.

'Not _now_, Albus, but – well, you remember the sort of thing we did back when Grindelwald –'

'I opposed the recruiting drives then, and I oppose them _now_, Zed. You may recall that I refused just such a proposal many years ago.'

'It's not as though I _approve _of it, exactly, old man,' the Minister said nervously. 'But – see here, now, there hasn't been a student accepted for Auror training from this school in years, and we all know that if they're not with us –'

'We do _not _all know that,' said Dumbledore, all humor gone from his voice now. 'I do not believe in making children choose sides in war.'

'_But He does!_ Don't you see, it –'

'All I see, Minister,' Dumbledore interrupted coldly, 'is that, while you have the best of intentions, you don't see the value of a few great Aurors as opposed to large amounts of frightened people coerced into joining Law Enforcement. Those who already intend to become Aurors or Hit Wizards are those who will be valuable in the fight; the rest should be allowed to choose other avenues instead of being unduly encouraged into a field that may not be right for them.'

'The campaign is going on all over Britain except for Hogwarts!' the Minister replied angrily. 'Come now, Albus –'

'I approve of the recruitment drives elsewhere. _Adults_ know enough about the world and the horrors in it to not take such a decision too lightly. But _children,_ Zedekiah, do not, and I will not encourage them down a path that they know too little about to judge wisely.'

'That's why we'll have the Aurors come in, Albus!' said the Minister loudly. 'They'll talk about their work, and –'

'And they'll sugarcoat it just as they did fifty years ago – and I mean no insult to the Department when I say that, it is simply the experience I had during the recruitment campaign against Grindelwald.'

'That campaign worked marvelously!' the Minister blustered.

'It would not have taken place, had it been up to me,' Dumbledore said with narrowed eyes. 'I instructed that Junior Dark Force Defense League, as you may recall, and I have never regretted anything more in my life than agreeing to do so.'

'They were so well-prepared, though, Albus, they got through Auror training in half the time, and –'

'And they should not have done so!' Dumbledore said, standing up forcefully from his chair and glaring. 'I will not have it again! They knew the spells to defend themselves, yes, but they did not know what they were defending themselves against! How could they?' Dumbledore sat down again, looking overcome, his old hands shaking. The quills continued to scratch and Dumbledore, furious, pointed his wand at the woman's pages and made them disintegrate. He did the same to Weasley's a moment later. They both looked up at him in shock.

'What about that Dumbledore's Army nonsense last year then, eh? What was that all about?' the Minister growled.

'You should know, of all people, Zed,' Dumbledore said, looking at the Minister with the deepest disappointment in his eyes, 'that none of those accusations were just. There was a club at Hogwarts called Dumbledore's Army, yes, but it was for the students to learn how to defend themselves, not for the students to be indoctrinated as Aurors.'

'So you'll let things become just as they were before?' he grumbled. 'You'll let You-Know-Who outnumber us, you'll let the students be unprepared –'

'It will not be like last time,' Dumbledore sighed, staring at his desk. 'He does not have such numbers as he did before, nor will he if we do not drive potential allies away.'

'Dumbledore, I'm not here to talk about the giants –'

'Then this conversation has ended. There will be no recruitment drives at Hogwarts while I am Headmaster. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts has acquired for this year is completely satisfactory, so no further training will be required.'

'This is your final word, Albus?'

'Yes.'

'Then we will leave. Good day to you, sir.' The Minister nodded curtly at Dumbledore. 'Rita, I trust you remember the particulars?'

'Yes, Minister,' the woman crooned.

'Excellent.' The Minister turned back to Dumbledore. 'Wonderful woman, Ms. Skeeter. She was the only one of those reporters who believed young Harry's story last year. I don't trust any of the rest of that _Prophet_ lot,' he grunted.

Dumbledore made no reply to this. The woman turned to Tom and smiled, showing several gold teeth.

'And what's _your_ name, darling?' she asked.

'Tom Maxwell,' he replied shortly.

'I'm Rita, Rita Skeeter, reporter for _The Daily Prophet_.' She held out her hand and he shook it. The others were filing out the doorway. 'I don't remember you from Hogwarts. I was quite sure that I'd met _all_ of Harry's lovely friends.'

'I'm new,' he replied smoothly.

'I see,' she purred. 'Why don't you tell me a little about yourself and your relationship to Albus Dumbledore?' Her quill was out in her hand again faster than Tom could see.

Tom raised an eyebrow. 'He's just the Headmaster of my school, miss.'

'That's enough, Rita,' Dumbledore said, his tone light but his gaze warning. She pursed her lips and nodded, then flashed him a fake smile. Giving Tom an insincere farewell, she walked out as the Minister held the door for her, and then he, too, left.

Tom was left alone with Dumbledore, and they both savored the silence for several moments. Then Tom, burning with questions, couldn't stop himself any more.

'The Junior Dark Force Defense League was a Ministry recruitment ploy?'

Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded.

Tom really wanted to ask why he was excluded from it, why Dumbledore hadn't wanted _him_ to be an Auror, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. For the first time, he truly wished Dumbledore would look into his eyes and pluck his thoughts from his brain so he wouldn't have to explain himself, so the question could remain unspoken.

'Sir,' he said softly. 'Why –'

'You were…' said Dumbledore in a hoarse whisper, 'you were not meant for it. You didn't even like being given orders in class.' There was a strange reverie in his voice and his eyes. He was staring at the wall. 'I always hoped… even after she died, I hoped you would find your way.'

Tom didn't know what to say to that. He stood up and walked out the door without another word. He hated being disappointing, especially to his worst enemy.  
**

* * *

Shattered Diamond: **No, but dreams will figure prominently in the next chapter!

**Monique: **Yes, but I have to warn you that the dream sequence in the last chapter isn't as important as you may think. I think that Harry would be pretty good at blocking Voldemort out at this point; when Voldemort tried to 'break in,' all he did was trigger a bizarre dream that will only serve to make him curious, and perhaps more receptive to later rumors…


	17. Speaking in Whispers

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry and Tom have an argument and make a deal.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** Ah, the first week is coming to a close (i.e. the first half of the story). Welcome to Harry/Tom land. Nothing smutty yet, but things do start moving…

**Chapter Seventeen: Speaking in Whispers**

Tom didn't mention his encounter with the Minister for Magic that afternoon; he wasn't the sort of person to share information without cause. All he told Harry upon his return was that he was getting a broom, and the rest of the team looked relieved that they wouldn't have to move at half their normal speed so Tom wouldn't fall behind in their next practice. They all worked on chipping away at their huge homework piles that evening – except for Tom, who was already done. This terrified Hermione, who started working like mad.

'Honestly, Hermione, calm down! You have plenty of time, that's not due until Tuesday,' Ron sighed, rolling his eyes.

'Tom's already done, though!' she said.

'So?'

'So I ought to be, too,' she replied firmly, turning back to her books and refusing to say another word.

'Harry,' Tom asked tentatively, 'could I go down to the library?'

'No,' Harry said flatly, not looking up from his Transfiguration paper.

Hermione and Ron looked up at Harry in surprise. 'That's a little rude, Harry,' Ron frowned in surprise.

'Yes, it is,' Hermione said.

'It's too late to go to the library. You know it's closed.'

'You didn't have to say it like that, though,' Hermione said, giving Harry an annoyed look before turning back to her work.

Harry sighed. '_Sorry_, Tom,' he said, not sounding much less rude than he had before.

'That's okay,' Tom replied. 'Does anyone happen to have extra reading materials? I'm through with the textbooks.'

Harry reached quickly into his bag and drew out a thin book that he thrust into Tom's hands. 'There, you could use that,' Harry said grumpily.

Tom looked down at the title, 'Flying with the Cannons,' and tried very hard to hide his disgust. He opened it and found that he was, indeed, bored enough to read the Quidditch tripe contained within.

* * *

Harry woke up after only a few hours and found, after an hour of tossing and turning, that he couldn't get back to sleep. His brain wouldn't shut off; he was worried. He couldn't stop thinking about Voldemort and what he might be doing at that very moment while Harry lay safely in bed at Hogwarts. When Harry managed to turn his thoughts away from that, they would be filled instead with Tom, the nearer problem. He wasn't exactly sure why he was worried; Tom couldn't hurt anyone, considering the close scrutiny he was under. If he hadn't opened the Chamber of Secrets again with just Dumbledore watching, how would he cause trouble if Harry was dogging every step he took? On the whole, he was pretty harmless; even Draco Malfoy could probably cause more trouble. 

Harry found that he was worried about what would happen once Tom found out who he really was – and he _had_ to find out, eventually. It seemed to him that the information would cause more trouble for Tom than for anyone; what if he tried to leave Hogwarts? What if someone else found out? Shaking his head, and realizing he wasn't going to get any more sleep for a while, Harry pulled back the curtains of his bed a bit and swung his legs out.

As it happened, he had gotten up out of the left side of his bed, facing Tom's. He was going to pull out some homework to do in bed by wandlight when he heard a loud rustling coming from Tom's four-poster. He sat on the edge of his bed and listened; every few seconds he would hear it again, rising out of the background of Neville's snoring. Frowning, Harry slid quietly to his feet, put on his glasses, and grabbed his wand. Blinking sleepily in the darkness, he padded across the short distance between their beds and, reaching his empty hand out tentatively, pulled back a small amount of Tom's curtain.

What Harry saw surprised him – but what had he expected, an attack? Tom was thrashing about in bed, unable to stay still for more than a few moments. Lighting up his wand with a whisper, Harry took a closer look and saw that Tom had thrown the covers off his chest completely and that his face was gleaming with sweat. Before he really thought about it, Harry had opened the curtains further and was reaching out his hand.

He grabbed Tom's shoulder and shook it lightly. 'Hey,' he whispered softly. Nothing happened. He shook his shoulder harder, leaned over and said, 'Hey, Tom,' in a more insistent whisper. Finally, giving up all pretense of gentleness, he shook his shoulder hard, and Tom's eyes bolted open.

Their eyes met. Tom backed away from Harry as much as he could with the blankets so tangled, and reached the one hand that wasn't tied up in the sheets under his pillow and grabbed his wand, pointing it at Harry, his eyes wild.

'What are you _doing?_' Tom hissed.

Harry blinked. He didn't really _know_ what he was doing. 'You were having a bad dream,' he said stupidly.

'You even watch me when I'm asleep!'

'No!' Harry replied in an angry whisper. 'I just happened to be awake, that's all.'

'Why were you attacking me?' His wand was still pointed directly at Harry's chest.

Harry snarled. 'I wasn't attacking you!'

'Then why do you have your wand out?' Tom hissed, trying to disentangle himself from the sheets while still awkwardly pointing his wand at Harry.

'I needed to see! If I was going to attack you, why would I wake you up first?'

'Go, just go!' Tom waved at him angrily.

'Fine! Next time I'll just let you have nightmares!'

'Good!'

'_Goodnight_!'

Harry threw the curtains closed again and walked quickly back to his own bed, shutting the curtains behind him. He lay awake fuming for another hour before falling asleep again.

* * *

'Need help?' 

It was Monday, and that bit of homework Hermione had been finishing on Saturday night was due the next day. She and Tom were the only ones finished; the others were still working on what Flitwick had set for them at the end of Friday's class on the differences between Illusion Charms and Transfiguration.

Tom looked down at Ron and Harry, a bashful grin on his face. Harry narrowed his eyes – he and Tom hadn't said much to each other since Saturday night – but Ron broke into a grin. 'Yeah, that would be great, actually… what was the fifth difference that Flitwick mentioned in class? My notes are kind of smudged. Here, have a seat.' He gestured to a chair across from him.

Tom sat down. 'He was talking about how putting an Illusion Charm on an object actually takes more magical power than transfiguring it because transfiguration only requires the initial magical strength necessary to change the object. Disguising the object, on the other hand, means that the Illusion Charm continually drains from the magical power used to cast it, so unless the spell is very strong, the illusion won't last long.'

'Awesome, thanks,' Ron said, scribbling down Tom's response. 'Uh, do you think you could give a demonstration? Flitwick said he'd be testing us on them tomorrow to see if we could keep an object disguised for the whole class period, but I can't get mine to last more than a few minutes.'

'Very well,' Tom said, 'though I should warn you that it's more a question of how much you focus on what you want the object to look like, how much of your magic you release in casting it, than the way you move your wand.'

Tom stood up and pointed to Harry's textbook. 'Dissimulo!' With a perfect swish and a flick of his wand as he spoke, a bolt of white light shot out of his wand, and the book became a candle.

'I was using that,' Harry said irritably.

'I could cast the counter-charm,' Tom said hurriedly. 'I didn't mean to –'

'No, that's fine.' Harry rolled up the parchment of his essay. 'I just finished. I think we should turn in now.' Without another look, Harry walked up the stairs, and heard Tom walking slowly after him.

They reached their dormitory, which was empty. 'What's the problem?' Tom asked, sounding very irritated about having to bring the subject up.

'I don't want to talk about it. Goodnight.'

'I thought you said you didn't _want_ to fight me!' Tom said through gritted teeth. 'Am I supposed to pretend to be happy about being shaken awake by an armed Gryffindor?'

Harry rounded on him, his nostrils flared. 'I was trying to help you!'

'No one else has ever bothered,' Tom said softly. Harry didn't know what to think; was Tom acting, or was there a real melancholy bitterness in his voice? Whatever it was, Tom had shaken it off by the time he had spoken again. 'Just don't do it again, and we can pretend it didn't happen,' he said reasonably.

'Fine, we'll start tomorrow.' Harry crawled onto his bed. '_Goodnight_, Tom.' He pulled the curtains shut.

'You forgot to brush your teeth,' Tom said, walking out to the bathroom.

Harry growled when Tom was gone. What had he done to make him deserve having to put up with that psychotic, egotistical, murdering bastard? He knew Tom was right – they _had_ to be friendly to each other to keep up the ruse. A couple of days without talking much wasn't a big deal when so many other people were vying for Tom's attention, but it would be noticed eventually, so he would have to let bygones be bygones, at least outwardly. He stripped down to his underpants, threw his clothes to the foot of his bed, and climbed under the sheets. He fell asleep before even taking off his glasses.

* * *

Harry blinked and yawned as he woke. There was no light streaming through his curtains; it was still late at night. Completely frustrated with himself, Harry huffed and closed his eyes again. Once more, however, he just couldn't get to sleep. His brain was still running through Charms work; Harry wondered how Hermione managed to sleep at all with all the work _she _did; even now that he was done, he couldn't get it out of his head. 

His thoughts turned toward Tom again. He sighed and opened his eyes, looking at his curtains, in Tom's direction. _No_, Harry told himself firmly, becoming even more frustrated with himself. _I don't care if he's having nightmares. I just don't care._

Nevertheless, curiosity itched at the corners of his mind; growling softly, he reached out an arm and opened his curtain just a bit. Sure enough, the same rustling noises were coming from behind the dark curtains. _Hermione was right_, Harry grumbled to himself, _I _do_ have to play hero, don't I?_

Harry sighed and got out of bed, taking the same steps he had the night before, his glasses on and his wand at his side. _He's going to be really mad if I wake him up_, Harry considered. _Well, he doesn't wake up easily, so if I just take a quick look_…

He reached Tom's bedside. Inching the curtains open slowly, he saw him tossing and turning in bed, a soft whimper occasionally escaping his lips. _What is he dreaming about?_ Harry wondered. _What haunts such an awful person in his sleep?_

He stretched out his hand again, but stopped before he touched Tom. If he woke him again, he'd get yelled at, everyone would wake up, and he'd probably be hexed. He didn't have any good reason to be there. Tom's cries were getting louder. _He'll wake up the whole bloody dorm at this rate!_ Harry thought angrily. _I can't believe that lot can sleep through this!_

Tossing caution to the wind, Harry put his hand, again, on Tom's shoulder. Harry didn't shake him, but he held him firmly so he couldn't roll around so much. 'Hey,' he whispered. 'Hey, it's okay, nothing to worry about here, calm down…'

To Harry's relief, this seemed to have the desired effect. He didn't know if it was his words penetrating Tom's sleeping brain, or if Tom found it comforting to be held down, but he calmed in his sleep, and didn't wake up.

Once Tom had stilled completely, Harry removed his hand and tiptoed back to bed. He got back in and wondered idly whether Voldemort was such a heavy sleeper, too – surely he would have been assassinated by now if he was. He must have purged whatever made his sleep so troubled long ago, or maybe he just wasn't human enough any more to have nightmares.

* * *

Classes continued, the days flew by, and October was upon Hogwarts. Harry couldn't believe he and Tom had survived a month in each other's company, and he especially couldn't believe that Tom hadn't caught Harry chasing away Tom's nightmares. 

Harry had always thought that he had a pretty bad time with nightmares, but Tom had proved him wrong. The morning after Harry's first successful time calming Tom in his sleep, there had been a noticeable difference in him. While he was normally up before anyone else to do homework, Tom had slept longer than anyone in the dorm, and Neville had ended up having to wake him up for breakfast. Tom had also had a surprising amount of rosy color in his usually pale face, making him look more hearty and healthy. He even seemed to be less edgy during their Quidditch practice that evening, too, though he might have just been getting used to flying.

It hadn't helped Tom's demeanor at all. He had still muttered a spell under his breath in the hall and made Malfoy trip on his own robes, not that Harry was going to tell him off over something that funny, but Harry hadn't been expecting miracles, and that's exactly what Tom _not_ being an arse would have amounted to. Harry had slept soundly the night after, and Tom had looked just as he always did when Harry woke; pale, tense, and too awake for the time of day. Harry had wondered, then, whether Tom had nightmares every night. As he then discovered, Tom definitely did.

Harry hadn't woken up again for a few more nights, but when he did, Tom had been thrashing about as usual. Harry had done as he had before; held him down, whispered softly, and then went back to bed and fell fast asleep. As the month had progressed, Harry had found himself getting up in the night with increasing frequency, as though his body was getting used to waking up at half past two and then sleeping again after having fought off Tom's nightly terrors. Furthermore, Harry had become less careful about the process; he would wake up, walk over to Tom with his eyes half-closed and his wand still on his nightstand, whispering a little louder than he had done before, and sometimes even giving Tom's shoulder a squeeze and trailing his hand sleepily down his arm as he pulled away. Tom never even stirred. Harry still wondered how his roommates managed to sleep through it all some nights; Tom could thrash violently and moan loudly, but no one woke except for him.

That first October night turned out to be no different, at first. Harry woke up around what he supposed was the usual time, rolled out of bed, and walked, bleary-eyed, over to Tom's bed. He was so used to the routine that it didn't even register in his brain that, for the first time, there was a light on behind the curtains.

Harry opened the curtains and nearly reached out his hand before he saw that Tom was sitting up in bed, completely awake, and reading by the light of his wand.

Tom looked up at him in shock. 'What are _you_ doing here!' he said loudly.

'Shh!' Harry said, feeling a little more awake and a lot more stupid. 'Keep it down, you'll wake them up!'

'What. Are. You. Doing. Here.' Tom hissed, just a little more softly.

'I… uh, I saw the light on in your room – I mean, your dorm – uh, your bed,' he mumbled, biting his lip and rubbing his eyes. 'You okay?'

'Yes,' Tom said slowly, as though this should be obvious.

'Okay, well, then, uh… hey, what're you reading?' he asked half-heartedly through a yawn. Tom might be up early to read something illicit, after all.

Tom held up the book. Harry had to lean in a lot to read the title, because he didn't have his glasses on, and nearly fell onto the bed. 'Prefects Who Gained Power,' Harry read out slowly. 'Looking yourself up?'

'I'm not in it,' Tom grumbled. 'It's all about Prefects who became Head of some Ministry department or other.'

Harry hummed in response. He was backing slowly away when Tom said, 'Sit down. I want to talk to you.'

Talking to Tom was the last thing Harry wanted to do at this time of night, or ever, but he was feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so he guiltily complied, crawling onto Tom's bed and sitting cross-legged.

'So,' Tom said pleasantly, setting the book aside and staring at Harry, who felt very vulnerable sitting without his glasses or his wand in front of a dangerous criminal with a wand at the ready, 'do you come into my bed often, I wonder?'

'Why would you think that?' Harry asked warily.

'Because I… because _you_ looked very comfortable opening my curtains and you weren't even looking at me when you came in.'

'I told you, I saw the light,' Harry said, feeling flustered.

'Funny, I would think you would bring your wand, or at least your glasses,' Tom sneered.

Harry sighed and pressed his right hand to his face. 'Don't be angry, I've just been hearing your nightmares, so I just come over and-and fix them, that's all. I didn't want you to wake anyone up.'

'I've _never_ woken anyone up, not since I was a child,' Tom whispered. 'What did you do, stroke my hair, and coo to me in my sleep?'

Harry tried to place the tone in Tom's voice – there was something different from anger there – but his brain was still working too slowly. 'No, I just held you by the shoulder and-and that's it.' Harry thought his nightly comments came a bit too close to cooing to be acceptable, and thought it prudent not to mention that part.

Tom looked down at his lap. 'I told you to leave me alone,' he said softly.

'I was only trying to help!' Harry whispered furiously. 'I didn't even bring my wand, see? I wasn't trying to-to hex you in your sleep!'

'It's okay,' Tom said. 'I suppose I should thank you. I've never slept so well. I knew something was going on when I started sleeping through the night so often. And here I thought Dumbledore was slipping some kind of mind-control potion into my drinks.' Tom chucked a bit. 'I'm a little relieved, honestly.'

There was an awkward silence in which Harry didn't know what to do. Should he go? Should he say something? 'Why were you reading that awful book?' Harry asked, forcing a smile.

'I was trying to stay awake,' Tom shrugged. 'Just to make sure I could fight Dumbledore's potions if I needed to. Though, I must admit,' he smirked wryly, 'the book is more of a sleep aid than a stimulant.'

Harry smiled genuinely at that, wondering what Percy would say if he knew that one of the most brilliant – if evil – students to ever pass through Hogwarts found one of Percy's favorite old books dull. He found it hard to sit up anymore, so he lay back on the bed, his fingers drumming on his stomach. 'You're really paranoid, you know that?'

Tom shrugged sharply, his eyes shadowed. 'Only the paranoid survive,' he said darkly.

'I'm not paranoid,' Harry replied casually, 'and I've lived through a lot.'

'Sounds to me like you're just lucky. Avada Kedavra doesn't bounce off the rest of us.'

Harry frowned. 'I _am_ lucky, I won't deny it, but there's a bit of skill involved, too. I'm not a complete idiot, you know.'

Tom smirked. 'And here you almost had me fooled. Tell me about yourself. I hear whispers of stories about you, but the only thing I know for sure is that you've escaped death several times; I still don't know _how._ I don't know much about you at all. Tell me something – anything.'

'I thought I was just lucky,' Harry muttered cheekily.

'Oh, come now, indulge me,' Tom said, moving to lie on his side facing Harry and balancing his head on his fist.

'I'll make you a deal.' Harry looked at Tom seriously; he knew that Tom only wanted to know about him so he would know all Harry's weaknesses, so he wouldn't make his enemies' mistakes, but Harry thought that he had a great deal more to gain than Tom from this conversation if he played it right. 'I'll tell you about me, and you'll tell me about you. Deal?'

'Deal,' Tom smiled. Even though he didn't have his glasses, Harry thought he detected an unhealthy gleam in those eyes. 'I must warn you, however, that my life isn't nearly as interesting as yours if even half the whispers are true…'

* * *

To answer the multiple questions about the beetle of the previous chapter… yes, it was precisely what you suspect :) 


	18. Similar Frustrations

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry and Tom talk – then Tom sneaks away.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** Hmm, if I stay on schedule, this fic should be comprised of 27 chapters, meaning we're down to the last ten :( Well, in case you hadn't noticed, the chapters have been getting significantly longer, so that means the fic is about halfway done…gulp… and I could easily be off in my estimates by a chapter or two. And thanks again for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!

**Chapter Eighteen: Similar Frustrations**

Harry couldn't say when they stopped talking. They swapped stories about their lives for a long while that night. Harry started with the Dursleys; Tom started with the orphanage. Harry left out some bits about being lonely in school and being beaten up by Dudley whenever he wasn't fast enough to get away; Tom, Harry was sure, had left out some things about orphanage life that he didn't want to share. By unspoken agreement, neither had asked questions. They went on to talking about benign Hogwarts-related things, comparing teachers and funny stories. Harry told Tom about Malfoy's ferret transformation in fourth year; Tom told Harry about Kieran Finnigan's supposedly legendary blowing-up incident, in which he bulged so large that he filled up the entire Great Hall, and it took the Ministry three days to deflate him, which prompted Harry to tell Tom about when he blew up his own aunt. He must have fallen asleep eventually, because when he woke the sun was shining dimly through the curtains of Tom's bed, and Tom was lying soundly asleep on the other side, on top of the tousled sheets.

Harry rubbed his eyes and shuffled back to his own bed, lying sprawled out on top and thinking sleepily. He had found their conversation the other night pleasant, but pretty uninformative. Harry figured that if he had his greatest enemy sleeping in the bed next to his, without said greatest enemy even _knowing_ that he was his greatest enemy, it only made sense to try to get as much information as he could out of him, especially since Tom was willing to talk. For all Harry knew, the secret to defeating Voldemort and fulfilling (or escaping) the Prophecy might lie in some unimportant story from over fifty years ago.

* * *

For two weeks, Harry snuck to Tom's bed every night. If he was having nightmares, Harry would soothe them away – he still felt a little funny about doing this when he really thought about it, so he tried hard _not_ to think about it – but, if there was a light shining from behind Tom's curtains, Harry would sit in bed with Tom for hours. Their conversations grew gradually more intimate; Harry liked to think that it was because they were running out of dumb things to talk about after all that time; deep down he had to admit that he enjoyed unloading some of his baggage. 

He had never been able to talk to anyone about the things he could talk to Tom about. It wasn't that he trusted Tom more than Ron or Hermione – far, far from it – but Tom, despite being a younger incarnation of Lord Voldemort, was an outsider in many ways, and he listened to Harry without looking horrified or offering suggestions. There were still some things he _couldn't _talk to Tom about; while they did talk about You-Know-Who's attempts on Harry's life, Harry often found himself fudging parts. You-Know-Who's resurrection in Harry's fourth year was presented as much tamer and did not take place in the Little Hangleton graveyard; Harry played down You-Know-Who's rivalry with Dumbledore; most of all, Harry did not make mention of the Chamber of Secrets opening in Harry's second year, because he doubted that Tom would appreciate him having killed Tom's pet basilisk. But it was easier – far easier – to talk to Tom about Sirius.

Harry observed that Tom was also getting more comfortable talking to him. After the first few meetings, once Harry started opening up, Tom followed, revealing more personal details of his life than Harry was entirely comfortable with knowing. Tom had told him how some of the other boys at the orphanage had tried to bully him in his early years, but Tom's magical powers had developed abnormally early, even for wizards, and strange _bad_ things had tended to happen around those who bothered him even as a toddler, so he had generally been left alone. Tom didn't detail these things, and Harry didn't ask. Tom had never gone hungry – but was rarely full, either – and he had never been abused by the orphanage staff, but they had been scared of him, and he hadn't had anyone to talk to. It sounded no lonelier than Harry's childhood, but it bothered him more hearing about it than talking about it himself.

Tom had told Harry other things, too – things about the Dark Arts. Tom had been bored at Hogwarts in ways Harry couldn't understand; Tom was brilliant, and he had wanted to learn so much more than what he was taught. The way Tom told it, he absorbed magical information so quickly that he could barely keep his attention on class material for fifteen minutes; by the way Harry had seen him write out his homework neatly off the top of his head without any books in that way which terrified Hermione, Harry could believe him. So Tom had dived into the library, learning spell after spell, until the only challenge he could find lay in the Restricted Section.

And Tom had wanted to _use_ the power he had for something; he was no Ravenclaw, he was not an academic. He wanted to change a world he had found so unsatisfactory to date. But he wasn't given the opportunity to show off his powers very often; there were no Philosopher's Stones or manic diaries or escaped convicts or evil dark wizards trying to kill _him_. Harry thought ironically that Tom would have appreciated the distraction. So, naturally, since trouble didn't follow Tom like a dark shadow, Tom had to make his own trouble.

Harry was bothered by how much of Tom he could understand from the stories. All his arrogance, manipulation, revenge, hatred… it all made _sense_ in a bizarre kind of way. Tom hadn't been born an arse, he had been made one. That didn't mean Harry forgave him a jot for anything he had done; Myrtle and Hagrid hadn't done anything to deserve what they got from him, and Harry hadn't had the best of childhoods, but _he_ hadn't gone around setting a basilisk on the school. Tom hadn't had friends, though, and Harry wondered, in the deepest depths of his mind that he didn't like to listen to, what he would have become if it hadn't been for a freckle-faced, red headed boy he had met on the Hogwarts Express.

No, he couldn't forgive Tom; he had made his own choices, and they were bad ones for the most part, in Harry's opinion. But Harry could understand the way Tom's mind worked more and more. He couldn't hate Tom anymore, and he could only dislike him when he was trying very hard, when he blocked out all the reasonable protests pounding at his dislike from all sides. Harry wasn't the type to think about his feelings, but when he looked at Tom lately, an unusual mix of pity and frustration would stir in him that was so unique he couldn't help pondering it.

Harry wondered what Tom thought when Harry talked to him. Did Tom even care at all? He didn't like to think about it, because he was afraid the answer would be 'no'; Harry felt guilty about talking to Tom about personal things, because he knew he shouldn't, but it felt so good to talk to someone who wasn't trying to help him or judge him, someone who only wanted to listen, that he threw the guilt aside.

* * *

Harry was in the middle of the story of how he met Sirius – he had already told Tom the basics about Sirius being innocent ages ago, but he hadn't ever explained about how he'd first met him, and he hadn't told him about Pettigrew – when he knew he had made a mistake. 

'So Ron, Hermione and I left Hagrid's cabin, but we couldn't move very fast because Scabbers was struggling and we could hardly keep my Invisibility Cloak around us all –'

'What?' Tom interrupted. Tom hardly ever interrupted to ask questions, and Harry looked up sharply in surprise. 'What Invisibility Cloak? _You_ have an Invisibility Cloak?'

'Uh, yeah,' Harry said slowly. 'It was my dad's.'

'And it's _here_? In your trunk? Could I see it?' Tom asked, his face rapt with glee. Harry was sure that if he could see into Tom's skull, he would see tiny gears whirring faster and faster within.

'Maybe some other time. It's getting really late. I should probably get back to bed. We can finish the story next time.' Harry hadn't fallen asleep in Tom's bed again since that first night; he always went back to his own when his eyelids got too heavy to lift.

* * *

Two nights later, Tom stopped Harry when he said he had to go. 'Could I ask you a question before you leave? It's not about the Invisibility Cloak.' 

'Shoot.'

'Excuse me?'

'Ask me the question.' Harry had forgotten that Tom was oblivious when it came to some modern slang terms.

'Why do you care about my nightmares?'

Harry frowned hard. 'I don't know, I… well, this will sound dumb to you, but I don't like to see other people… hurting.' He looked up at Tom sharply. 'I know you can't understand, but even if I don't like you, it bothers me when you have nightmares,' he said hurriedly. 'It's nothing personal.'

Tom looked down, something indefinable passing over his features just as Harry lost sight of them, and Harry wondered if he'd said the wrong thing.

'Could I ask you something?'

Tom looked back up, and any trace of what Harry might have seen before was gone; Tom's toothy smile was as big as Harry had ever seen it. 'Of course, Harry.'

'What do you dream about?'

The smile faltered, but only for an instant. Then it was firm again, and Tom replied, 'I don't know, really. I don't remember afterwards. It's getting late, isn't it? We have a quiz in Defense tomorrow morning.'

Harry knew that Tom could do any quiz in any class with his eyes shut; he also knew that Tom's tone was the same one Harry had used when evading questions about You-Know-Who. He didn't feel as though he had any right to press Tom further, so he let it go.'Goodnight, Tom.'

'Goodnight, Harry,' Tom replied softly. Harry left with a feeling that all was not quite right, but he didn't know what had gone wrong…

* * *

Tom didn't sleep after Harry left as he usually did. He felt more frustrated with himself than he had since he was a child. It's not like he _cared_ that Potter disliked him, even after he had stupidly – _stupidly!_ – told him all about himself. Why did he even agree to it? Knowing about Potter wasn't worth having to give away that much about himself. Salazar Slytherin would be ashamed.Tom hadn't done anything so dumb in years, not since he had let it slip to Rosier about living in an orphanage. 

So, Harry didn't like him, and it was nothing personal that he woke him up from his bad dreams every night. Maybe Gryffindors woke each other up from nightmares all the time.

_Or maybe I'm stupid because I should have determined by now that they're all the same! None of them ever…_ Tom stopped thinking about it at once; a door had slammed shut on the trail of his thoughts, just as it always did on those rare occasions when he made himself feel sick thinking about it. Tom hadn't cried about it, had never let it even form in his mind, since his first year, after that time with Rosier. Tom had been caught crying in an unused classroom, and the others had laughed at him, they had laughed and laughed…

* * *

Harry couldn't sleep. He didn't know why he was so bothered; was he really dumb enough to have thought that because _he_ wanted to tell all of his problems to Tom, his worst enemy, that Tom would want to do the same? Tom never showed emotion, he never showed anything but misguided interest! He told just enough about himself to keep Harry talking, and Harry always did twice the amount of talking that Tom did on any given night, he _knew_ that, he knew it wasn't a fair exchange. 

But he had still thought Tom could at least answer that one question for him, that one intimate question when Harry had willingly told him almost every private fear and heartache he'd ever had.

Harry had never seen Tom feel anything _real_. Even when Tom was talking about things that would fall under the category of deep, dark secrets, his face was neutral, his voice never skipped a beat, and sometimes he would even smile widely at the worst parts. Tom dreams made him feel something, though; they broke through his stillness and his ever-present smile and had him thrashing about in his bed nightly. What could make Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, so afraid? Tom wasn't going to tell any time soon.

_That's it_, Harry thought to himself firmly. _That's enough. No more nighttime talks. It was a stupid idea_. Resolved, he turned on his side and shut his eyes. Sleep came, but not for a long while.

* * *

The next day Harry said nothing to Tom and Tom said nothing to Harry, except when they were partnered together in Potions by Snape for the first time, and then the only talking was Tom ordering Harry to chop up some ingredients. Harry spent plenty of time talking to Ron and Hermione, though; he had forgotten how nice it had been when it was just the three of them, before he had touched that bloody crystal. Tom never tried to interject in their conversations that day, either; he was unusually quiet, only talking to anyone when Neville asked for help with his Transfiguration homework and Parvati and Lavender dragged conversation out of him. Harry knew it was irrational, but he was angry that Tom was being silent with everyone, not just Harry, angry that Tom wouldn't even let them share a private argument together. _Stupid idiot is going to ruin all his hard work ingratiating himself_, Harry thought furiously. _Fine, let him._

Harry climbed enthusiastically into bed that night, with no intention of leaving it until morning.

* * *

Harry woke up around the usual time, and was squirming over to the side of his bed to pull the curtains open when he remembered his pledge, growled at how well he had been trained, and squirmed back to where he had been. He closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.

* * *

Tom woke up with a gasp, his body covered in sweat and his limbs so tangled that it took him several minutes to undo the knots. He fell back onto his pillow, breathing heavily. 'Harry?' Tom whispered tentatively. There was no answer, except the darkness and stillness of night closed around him more tightly. He lay in bed for a few minutes, as if waiting for some sound to pierce the silence; then he got out of bed and, for the first time in weeks, dug into his belongings for 'Prefects Who Gained Power.'

* * *

Tom appeared worse the next morning than Harry had ever seen him. Even Ron commented that Tom looked as though someone had punched him in both his eyes, they looked so dark and sunken. 'You're working too hard,' Ron said worriedly, shaking his head. 'You and Hermione just keep driving each other to new depths of overwork.' 

'I'm fine,' Tom said, but his voice shook so much with those two words that it worried the others more than it convinced them.

'You're falling apart,' Neville frowned. 'Why don't you take the day off? You could go up to Madame Pomfrey –'

'No,' Tom shook his head. Gaining control over himself, he managed to smile in his normal way. 'I just had a bad night, that's all.'

He didn't even glance at Harry as he said this. Harry was staring at him, though, but caught himself before anyone else noticed and walked quickly into the washroom to escape.

Tom actually seemed much better by breakfast; the black circles had faded a little, though they still made him look like he'd come off worse in a fight. He took his usual seat beside Harry, still not looking at him. Anger welled up within Harry at everything about Tom; who was _he_ to give Harry the cold shoulder? Harry didn't see how he'd done anything to deserve it. But he didn't want Tom talking to him anyway, so he ignored him and took a few stabs at his pancake.

The post arrived. A familiar eagle owl flew in with some sweets for Tom from his supposed family, which he always passed around the Gryffindors, hardly touching any of them himself. Another owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ for Hermione. As Tom was passing a sweet pastry to Neville, Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry forcefully by the shoulder.

'Harry, look at this!' she cried, catching the table's attention. Everyone within hearing range focused on her.

She took note of this and read aloud. 'He Who Must Not Be Named Strikes Again: Third Muggle Killing in Nine Days, Two Aurors Wounded.' She continued reading the article. 'Last night at 11:27 in the evening, supporters of You-Know-Who are reported to have forcibly entered the Ashby residence in Aberdeen with a simple Unlocking Charm.'

'That's not far from here!' Parvati Patil gasped.

'Upon entering, the attackers proceeded to round up all members of the family, including Robert Ashby, 43, Alicia Ashby, 36, Duncan Ashby, 14, and Candice Ashby, 6.'

'Bastards,' muttered Dean, tears in his eyes. 'They got the bloody kids, too.'

The Gryffindors continued to listen in rapt horror as Hermione went on about how the family had been lifted up into the air in a way similar to the Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup and marched down the street, the family shrieking and waking the neighbors. They listened to how the Death Eaters had reportedly cast Cruciatus repeatedly on them all and dropped them from sixty feet above just moments before Aurors arrived, according to observers, who later had their memories modified. A minor skirmish resulted which ended in minor injuries to Aurors Shacklebolt and Williamson before the attackers Disapparated.

'This is getting really bad,' Seamus said softly, shaking his head in disgust. 'It's gross, it's really gross.'

'At least they didn't have to hold back on the details about how they died like with the last ones,' Ron replied.

Harry bit his lip. All of these killings were his fault; if he wasn't hiding in Hogwarts instead of facing Voldemort…

'Let's just get to class,' Harry said into the silence that resulted from Ron's comment.

'Hey,' Ron frowned, 'where did Tom go?'

Harry turned sharply around to his other side. The chair was empty.

'Oh, he left a little ways into the story,' Neville shrugged. 'I don't blame him.'

'I have to find him,' Harry said, kicking himself for letting Tom escape from _right beside him_.

'He knows his way around the school pretty well now, Harry,' Hermione said matter-of-factly.

'No, Hermione, I _really _have to find him. Tell Hagrid I'm sorry for being late.' Harry stood up as he spoke and walked briskly out of the room.

'Harry, wait –'

But Harry was gone. He was walking quickly back toward Gryffindor Tower. _Tom will try to take my Cloak,_ Harry thought darkly, _he'll try to use it to escape, maybe to Hogsmeade, or…_

Harry didn't really want to think of how many places Tom could go if no one could see him. He broke out into a run as he reached the Tower, shouted the password to the Fat Lady, and raced up the stairs. _Maybe he's not gone… maybe he hasn't found it…_

He reached his dormitory. His trunk was closed. Harry unlocked it and threw things all over until he had dug down to the Cloak. It was still there. _Of course,_ Harry thought stupidly, _he wouldn't have relocked the trunk and put all my things back in the right place if he was trying to escape the school._

Tom did not have the Invisibility Cloak. Harry didn't put it back; he grabbed it, left everything else strewn over the floor by his bed, and rushed out of the Tower. If Tom were trying to escape Hogwarts, he would have tried to take Harry's cloak. If he wasn't trying to escape Hogwarts, he must merely be trying to ditch Harry. _He must want to look up something illicit in the library_, Harry thought grimly. Feeling greatly annoyed and swearing that he would give Tom some _real _black eyes when he found him, Harry raced to the library. If he couldn't fight Voldemort, he could at least fight Tom.

Tom wasn't in the library. Harry looked all around, and asked grumpy Madam Pince if she'd let anyone into the Restricted Section that morning; she answered curtly in the negative.

Harry stood still for a minute in the library and thought hard, Madam Pince glaring into his back. _If I were Tom Riddle, and I wanted to be alone, where would I go?_

The answer came immediately after the question, and Harry felt stupider than Crabbe for not having thought of it sooner. He walked quickly down the stairs from the fourth floor to the second, and headed straight for the out of order girls' bathroom.  
**

* * *

TheSecretCharacter:** Nope, I'm not American, but thanks anyway! Yeah, I use quotations the way the UK version of the book does, since I own the Canadian edition and it's the same as the UK. I think spelling words with the letter 'u' in random places is stupid, so I spell those words the American way, like 'favorite' and 'color'.

**Monique: **Oops, I've confused you! The 'she' isn't Tom's mother, it's Moaning Myrtle! Dumbledore was just saying how he had hoped Tom would manage to redeem himself even after he murdered Myrtle (Dumbledore just loves second chances). Tom's mother will show up eventually, though… I'm saving that for what I like to call the 'excessively maudlin' chapter. Yes, it gets even worse than this… hell, the next chapter gets worse than this.


	19. Into the Snake Pit

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry meets Tom in the Chamber of Secrets.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** I'm hot, I'm sick, and my hands are so clammy that I'm having trouble typing because my fingers are sticking to the keyboard. I hope Tom and Harry are doing better than I am :( Thanks for the reviews, and enjoy the long chapter!

**Chapter Nineteen: Into the Snake Pit**

Tom walked casually from the Great Hall to avoid attracting attention and then broke into a sprint, nearly toppling an entire group of first-year Gryffindors as he bowled around a corner on the way to the stairs. He went up one flight and then raced down the mostly empty hall, into an entirely empty hall, and then into the second-floor girls' bathroom, a crumpled piece of parchment clutched tightly in his hand.

Once he entered, he heard someone sobbing uncontrollably from the stall across from _his_ sink. _Who would be crying in this dirty, dingy bathroom?_ Tom gritted his teeth in frustration and tried to tiptoe in front of her stall toward the entrance to the Chamber, but then a mournful voice cried, 'Who's there? Thought you could just come in here and ignore me, did you?'

And then Tom yelped in surprise as a ghost flew through the stall door toward him. The ghost gasped. 'You're a _boy_! _You're_ not supposed to be in here!' The ghost, which seemed to have been a female student, sounded both scandalized and overjoyed. 'I'm _telling_!' she said with relish, flying out of the stall and into the hallway.

'No, wait!' Tom cried. It was too late; she was gone. _What does it matter, anyway? I won't be in here by the time she tells someone, and she doesn't even know my name._ Tom hurried over to his sink, hissed at it to open, and climbed inside.

Tom walked slowly through the dark, underground tunnel, his wand lighting his way. He knew he shouldn't be down there, but he just couldn't take it anymore. He was overcome with frustration; why did he have to be in _this_ time? He had been perfectly happy where he was. He had made plans, and now nothing was going the way it should be. Now he was stuck at Hogwarts with Gryffindors on all sides, and they all adored him except for the only one who was even remotely interesting, the only one who knew who he really was and what he was really about.

_That_ Gryffindor disliked him. He put up with Tom, woke him from nightmares that had only caused the orphanage workers to throw his bed into a cupboard under the stairs so he wouldn't wake the other children with his wails at night. The curtains on the beds at Hogwarts muffled the noise, and his dreams weren't as loud as they once were; when he had learned he'd be sharing a dormitory at Hogwarts he had been terrified that he would wake someone, and his subconscious had responded positively to him begging it to be quieter when it tormented him nightly. He had also noticed a marked decrease in his nightmares since he had begun delving into the Dark Arts, which only encouraged him to delve into them more. Those occasional days when he had to hide his eyes because of how red and monstrous they looked after he'd been practicing a particularly Dark spell, he slept dreamlessly at night.

Yes, Harry Potter helped him sleep at night like a good casting of Cruciatus on a rat never failed to do, but he only did it for the sake of maintaining his high Gryffindor standards of morality and _not _because Tom was anything special to him. It was _nothing personal_. The last time Tom had felt even a glimmer of hope that he might gain a friend (Tom sneered as he thought the word), he had told one thing too many about his past; oh, Rosier could put up with him being a half-blood if Tom did his Transfiguration homework for him, but to rub shoulders with a penniless, parentless wretch who lived in a Muggle orphanage swarming with Muggles was a bit much to ask ('Listen, Riddle, I don't want to hang around you any longer. You're just not the kind of fellow a Slytherin trying to climb the ladder should be associating with. It's nothing personal.' And he had patted Tom on the back, _very_ lightly, as if he were contagious, and sniveling, hopeful eleven-year-old Tom had run off to cry about his hopes of not being lonely anymore being smashed to pieces because even _here_ he was strange and he scared people, and he was found, and…). This time was even stupider because he was practically an adult and Harry had made it clear that he hated him from the get-go and he had told many more than just one too many things about his past. What had he hoped to accomplish?

Tom kicked a rat skull as hard as he could, and it smashed on the stone wall as it hit it. Had he thought Harry would like him if he knew that Tom's past had been bizarrely similar to his own? Tom wondered, before he could stop himself, if he should have told Harry that they had both slept in a closet, too. Maybe Harry would have liked him more if he said that? Or would his dislike deepen?

_It doesn't matter now,_ Tom thought, stamping out all other desperate wonderings flitting through his mind. _I'm going to get in big trouble for coming down here. Dumbledore will probably expel me and I won't even see Harry again unless he's there to watch me being led away by Aurors to Azkaban._ He didn't really think Dumbledore would go through with it; Tom was down here for peace and quiet, that was all, and he wanted to see his basilisk, his friend, again, and they could always hunt some rats together even if Tom didn't let him out. The basilisk wasn't a very good conversationalist when he was hungry, but when he was full he would tell Tom whatever he knew about Salazar Slytherin, the man who had hatched him and was like a father to them both, and what he had learned from Slytherin in the years he knew him to pass down to whoever someday came to this Chamber to claim his or her birthright.

Speaking of rats, Tom was suspicious when he saw the amount of rat carcasses littering the floor of the tunnel. He was sure there had not been so many when he had last been down here. His suspicions that something had happened were confirmed when he saw that part of the ceiling in the tunnel had collapsed; there was only a small hole, just big enough for Tom to crawl in, that led through the debris.

As he got up and continued to walk through the winding passage leading to the Chamber, to the snake, Tom considered the parchment in his hand. It was a letter, written in foreign handwriting. It was not Dumbledore's; he knew Dumbledore's from the extensive comments the man left on his essays and that Tom secretly relished reading behind closed curtains in the dead of night where none of the Slytherins could see that he was bothering reading something written by such a notorious Muggle-lover. No, it was someone else's, the same handwriting that appeared on every letter he received once or twice a week from his apocryphal parents. Even though Tom hated reading the letters, he knew he had to; it would look strange, even to Slytherins, to disregard a letter from one's parents, let alone Gryffindors. There was a masochistic part of him – the same part that enjoyed reading Dumbledore's comments in bed by wandlight – that ached for those letters, no matter how uncomfortable he felt when he read about how his father had been so proud when he heard that his son had made the Quidditch team or about how his mother had passed the spot where the two of them had found their pet kneazle, Bumblebee, when Tom was seven, and had broken into tears at the memory. But after everything that had occurred those past few days between Tom and Harry, the letter that morning at breakfast had been the final straw, and Tom's chest had gotten so tight he could hardly breathe. He had felt an overpowering urge to run, to go anywhere he wouldn't have to see Harry laughing with his friends and completely ignoring Tom as he had yesterday, or read about his 'father' messing up a Floating Charm and ending up with balloons blowing out his nose for hours because he had forgotten the counter-charm and Tom hadn't been there to put it right. And Harry hadn't been there last night, and Tom felt so foolish waiting for him like a stupid dog for hours, and he had barely read five pages of that stupid Prefect book, and did Dumbledore think it was funny writing fantasies about wonderful, loving parents when Tom would give anything for them to be real?

So Tom had gone down to the Chamber of Secrets, and as he reached the Chamber and saw the skeleton of the basilisk lying on the damp stone floor, his last living link to Salazar Slytherin, the only father he had ever had, he sank to his knees beside its head and sobbed.

* * *

Harry was panting heavily by the time he reached Myrtle's bathroom, what with all the running around the school he had been doing. 'Myrtle?' Harry called. 

Myrtle floated out of her stall. 'Well! At least _you_ have some manners! At least you didn't just creep in here like that other boy! He was probably planning to sneak up on me and throw another book at me!' To the best of Harry's knowledge, no one had thrown any books at Myrtle since his second year, but Harry knew Myrtle had a long memory for misery.

'Did you see him doing anything, Myrtle? Like crawling through a sink?' Harry gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

'No,' she said mournfully, 'he must have left after I told him I was going to tell on him. I wasn't _really_ going to tell. I wish he had stayed – he was _very_ cute.'

'Wait, you-you left, so you didn't see where he went? He might have gone down the sink, then?'

Myrtle shrugged. '_I_ don't know! I haven't seen anyone go down a sink, certainly.'

Harry sighed. 'Thanks, Myrtle.' He had been hoping that Myrtle might have scared Tom off, but no such luck. He shook his head; his run had taken a great deal of his fury away, and now he was mostly worried. It wasn't as if there was a basilisk down there for Tom to set loose, but it didn't seem normal for Tom to go down to the Chamber when he knew Dumbledore and Harry were watching him. It was… stupid, and Tom wasn't stupid. _So why is he doing this?_ Harry wondered. _I guess I'll just have to go down and ask him._

When Harry got to the end of the slide down to the Chamber, he fastened the Invisibility Cloak around himself and walked quickly through the dark tunnels by wandlight.

* * *

Tom didn't cry for very long; to most people, it would have sounded more like a handful of short huffs coupled with watery eyes, but it was more sadness than Tom had expressed for five years, and he felt utterly ashamed of himself for it. Afterward, he stayed still for a few minutes, his hand on the snake's broken skull, his eyes closed. Then he took off his backpack, unzipped the compartment in the front, and took out a pack of cigarettes. 

He pulled one out and lit it with his wand, sucking in a deep breath as it slipped between his lips. Tom frowned; it tasted different – weaker – than the cigarettes he was used to. He had quietly bought them off a Ravenclaw girl in his Divination class; were all cigarettes in this time like this? Tom almost felt like crying again out of frustration – couldn't he even have a decent bloody _cigarette_?

Nevertheless, he finished the cigarette, and the one after that, and the one after that. He was on his fourth, smoking faster than he ever had in his life – though they weren't as heavy as the ones he was used to, he had only ever smoked one at a time and he was starting to feel a bit sick – when he heard echoing footsteps coming nearer, and looked up curiously, reaching into his robes for his wand.

* * *

Harry reached the mouth of the Chamber much faster than he had anticipated. It seemed to have taken forever to get there when he had rushed in before; then again, there had been Lockhart to put up with then, and the ceiling had nearly collapsed on top of him and Ron, and his legs had been shorter. He was surprised to see Tom looking at the entrance suspiciously with his wand raised when Harry walked in – then Harry remembered how echoing the Chamber was, and that being invisible didn't help dampen the noise. Harry tried to walk forward as softly as he could, but the noise his foot made on the ground still echoed loudly off the stone wall. 

'Who's there?' Tom asked suspiciously, his wand inadvertently pointed right at Harry's chest. 'Show yourself.'

Harry decided it was probably time to give up; invisibility wouldn't help if Tom started throwing hexes toward the entrance just to be sure no one was there. He took off the Cloak.

Tom's eyes widened and his eyebrows climbed. 'You! _How_? You can't be –' he sputtered.

Then Tom looked to the basilisk skeleton, and looked back at Harry, and his eyes narrowed to slits. 'Did you do this to my basilisk?' he whispered dangerously.

'Yeah, well, it was trying to kill me at the time, so you'll have to excuse me for not being too apologetic,' Harry sniped, throwing the cloak over his arm. 'Come on, let's go. If we're lucky, no one will have noticed that we're missing yet.'

'_How did you get down here?_' Tom shouted. 'You can't get down here, it's impossible!'

'I'm a Parselmouth, okay?' Harry said impatiently. 'We can discuss it later, let's _go_!' Harry found his eyes attracted to the floor; near the basilisk's head, he saw a red cigarette pack.

'You came down here to _smoke_?' Harry said incredulously.

'What do you _mean_? You _can't_ be a Parselmouth!'

'I'm your second cousin twice removed, remember?' Harry growled, reaching down to grab the cigarettes. 'I can't _believe_ you came down here to smoke!' Harry shook his head, holding the pack between thumb and forefinger disgustedly.

'How did you find the Chamber? When? It took me _years_!'

'It was in my second year, and I have your diary to thank for it. Now, can we please _move?_'

Tom sat down on the ground and crossed arms over his chest. 'I'm not leaving until you explain! Wait,' his eyes widened again. 'You found my diary? You got possessed by my diary? But you're alive, that's impossible!'

'_Someone_ is pretty sure of himself,' Harry grumbled. 'And no, it didn't possess me, it possessed Ginny. That's why she can't stand you.'

'My diary possessed Ginny? Really?'

'Yes, now can we leave?'

'But this is _wonderful_!' Tom cried, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

That wasn't the reaction Harry had been expecting. '_Wonderful_? How is it _wonderful_?'

'All those experimental charms I used! I'll have to ask her how she felt, whether there were any side-effects, when she became suspicious, what the diary's reactions were, how far it got –'

'_It nearly killed her!_' Harry snarled, standing up and glaring. 'You aren't going to ask her anything! Don't you have any morals _at all?_'

'No,' Tom replied, sounding offended by the question, as if morals were as desirable as genital warts. '_You'll_ have to tell me all about it, then. Go on. You said it was you who killed my snake?'

Harry was about to start shouting at Tom when a little voice tapped at his head. _He _said_ he didn't have any morals, but he _did _agree not to ask Ginny. Don't expect miracles._ So Harry closed his mouth, swallowed down the insults he had been prepared to yell out, and sat down on the stone floor in front of Tom. He told the story from the point when he first heard the mysterious, murdering voice that no one else could hear. He had to admit to himself that he had missed talking with Tom the other night, and he wondered whether Tom had missed it, too.

When he got to the part when he had come across Tom's diary himself, Tom started asking a lot of questions, mostly concerned with how the diary had responded to him, how believable it had sounded (Harry hated admitting that its story had been all _too_ believable), and how Harry had felt when the diary had taken him through its memory of catching Hagrid ('That was one of the hardest parts to cast, you know,' Tom said wistfully. 'It was like making a Pensieve, and I had to do a great deal of improvisation. I'm so glad it worked out so excellently.'). He eventually let Harry continue through the story, and he listened with rapt attention as Harry told an extremely fudged version of how he had managed to defeat the basilisk and the diary in the Chamber (since it was difficult to tell much about his conversation with Tom's diary without giving away too much about Tom's current identity). Harry was glad when he was finished, because the echoing of his own voice in the Chamber was giving him a headache.

'What a wonderful story,' Tom sighed wistfully. 'I'm a bit disappointed that my diary wasn't able to kill you –'

'Thanks,' Harry interjected sarcastically.

'But your way of dispatching it was very inventive. I never thought to protect it from basilisk venom,' he continued, as though they were just discussing the weather. 'It seems like an obvious oversight now. And it really should have remembered about phoenix tears.'

Harry didn't think so, but he didn't bother replying. 'Can we _finally_ leave, please? Dumbledore will definitely have noticed that we're missing by now. We'll have to make up some story so he won't kick you out –'

'Harry?'

'Or maybe we shouldn't; it's pretty hard to fool Dumbledore. We'll tell him the truth, that you came down to the Chamber to smoke and that you had no intention of doing anything. He's a reasonable man, he'll understand, and I'll back you up. I'm sure it'll work out fine –'

'_Harry_?'

'And I still can't _believe_ you came down here to smoke!' Harry continued. The pack of cigarettes was still in his hand. 'Hermione's right, you know. She can act like a know-it-all and just go on and on, but these really are bad for you. I don't want you smoking again.' Harry tossed the pack of cigarettes into the darkness. 'I can't believe that someone who likes the idea of immortality so much would insist on killing himself eight minutes at a time –'

'_Harry_!'

'What?'

'You would back me up with Dumbledore?' Tom asked softly.

Harry frowned; Tom's voice sounded funny, like he was hopeful and disbelieving at the same time. 'Of course, why wouldn't I?'

'Why do you care if Dumbledore expels me?' Tom shot back. 'You don't even like me!'

'But you didn't come down here to hurt anyone!' Harry said exasperatedly. 'That doesn't even make sense! You know you're being watched too closely to get away with it! Why _wouldn't_ I back you up? You haven't done anything wrong – well, except make me really worried.'

'You were _worried_ about me?' Tom asked in amazement.

'Of course I was worried! You disappeared, and I was sure you had gone to the library, but you weren't there. Well, that's not true, at first I thought you had taken my Invisibility Cloak and you were trying to leave Hogwarts, and then Dumbledore and I would have to find you before anyone tried to hurt you –'

'You were worried about _me_?'

'Yes, yes, you big idiot. I was worried and mad as hell. But you didn't take my Invisibility Cloak, and you weren't in the library, so I figured you would be here. If I catch you smoking down here again – hell, if I catch you smoking _anywhere_ again –'

'If you dislike me so much,' Tom said slowly, tilting his head and looked at Harry curiously, 'then why would you be worried about someone trying to hurt me?'

'Is _that_ what this is all about?' Harry asked bewilderedly. 'Of course I like you. Don't be stupid.' What, did Tom think Harry regularly went around spilling his guts to people he couldn't stand? Maybe he hadn't liked Tom in the beginning; maybe he had even disliked him, but he hadn't honestly disliked him since the first night or two after they started discussing their lives. He didn't know when he had started liking him – Harry hadn't actually realized he did until he said it.

'But you said you _didn't_ like me just a few nights ago!' Tom protested.

'Did I?' Harry tried to remember. 'Well, I didn't mean it, okay? I don't see why you care since you don't like me, either.'

Tom looked at the ground. 'I don't mind you so much. You're… nice,' he said in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

'I am?'

'Do you think I would tell you all those things about me if I thought you were a total arse?' Tom asked angrily.

'Wow,' Harry replied, scratching his head. That was exactly why Harry had been thinking that Tom should know Harry liked _him_. 'But if you think I'm so nice, why wouldn't you tell me what you dream about every night? I wanted to help.'

'If you like me, why did you say you didn't when I asked you why you care about me having nightmares?' Tom retorted.

'Good point,' Harry sighed. He hadn't realized Tom would care whether or not he liked him. Knowing that he did care felt strangely good. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.' Harry had never had to tell Ron formally that he liked him before they had become friends; they just _had_, and it worked out. Why did Tom have to be so complicated?

'You didn't hurt my feelings,' Tom sneered. 'I don't have any.'

_Like hell you don't_. The thought took Harry by surprise, but he knew it was true. _But if you want to delude yourself otherwise, be my guest._ 'Let's just go,' Harry sighed. It was probably better for them to get out of the Chamber before they got into another argument.

Harry walked toward the Chamber entrance. 'Where do you think you're going?' Tom asked.

'I was planning to get _out of here?'_ Harry snapped, turning around.

Tom snorted, putting on his backpack. 'You can't get out that way. In case you didn't notice,' he threw out his arms, 'we don't have a phoenix here to fly us hundreds of feet up, and we can't ride the basilisk up the pipes like I used to.'

Harry paused, a horrible realization creeping into him. 'So how do we get out?' Harry asked warily.

Tom strode over to one of the walls, which had a barely visible picture of entwined snakes carved into it, matching the tall pillars that held up the chamber. Harry followed.

'_Open_,' Tom hissed.

The snakes on the wall moved, twisting away from each other, and the wall opened loudly between them, stone grinding on stone. A staircase was revealed: a narrow, very long staircase.

'Don't worry, the stairs move,' Tom assured him, probably seeing the apprehension on Harry's face about climbing a staircase that went up that far. 'It's like Dumbledore's office. Just step on. Go on,' Tom indicated with a swoop of his hand and a slight, mocking bow.

Harry stepped on tentatively, and the staircase began to move. The entrance started closing as well, but Tom stepped through before it closed too far.

'Lumos,' Harry and Tom said at once, lighting their way.

Although the staircase moved fairly quickly, it still seemed to be taking a while, and the stone stairs moved much louder than the ones leading to the Headmaster's office. 'There's something I should tell you,' Tom shouted at him over the noise.

Harry looked back at Tom, who was a few stairs behind. 'What?' Harry shouted back.

'It's about where this staircase leads.'

'Where?'

'A closet.'

'So?'

'It leads to the Slytherin common room.'

Harry paused. 'How will we get out?'

'There shouldn't be many people in there during class. We can walk out of the closet and Obliviate whoever's there.'

'I don't know how to Obliviate people!'

'Leave it to me. There will only be a couple students.'

Harry didn't like this plan, but there didn't seem to be any other option. 'Why would Slytherin build a staircase to somewhere so busy?'

'The staircase was built for emergencies, and he would expect his Heir to be able to hex a few people silly in an emergency.'

The stairs finally grinded to a halt, and Harry was faced with a stone wall with entwined snakes. '_Open_.'

It did so in the same way the one below had. 'I've never heard anyone else speak Parseltongue,' Tom grinned.

They stepped into the closet. It was completely empty; Harry did think it was pretty stupid to have a closet in the common room, and so did the Slytherins, apparently. The door was made of metal, and was too thick for them to hear whether there were any noises outside. Why would a closet have a metal door? _Slytherin was a weird bloke,_ Harry thought fervently. Tom reached for the doorknob, but Harry grasped his hand.

'Don't worry,' Tom said. 'I can handle it.'

Harry nodded nervously, let go of his hand, and Tom pushed the door open.

The chatter in the common room was deafening; it was full to bursting.

And, facing the closet they had stepped out of, Draco Malfoy was sitting in a chair, reading the _Daily Prophet_. He looked up.  
**

* * *

DarkMarklv:** Here's the way I view it: Harry feels Voldemort being deliriously happy or extremely pissed from time to time as it is, but I just don't put it in the chapters because it's not terribly relevant to us or to Harry. He's gotten used to it. As for the dreams, he only had those because he sucked at Occlumency, and now Snape is taking care of that, so no more dreams. That's not to say Voldemort doesn't (intentionally) pick up a few thoughts from _Harry_ from time to time, like the dream he triggered previously when he tried to break through.

**Raehli:** The Marauders Map wouldn't help Harry much; when Harry went up to his dorm and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, he could have taken the Map, but since he thought he already knew where Tom must be (the library), he didn't think to take it. And, of course, the Chamber of Secrets wouldn't be on the map ;)

**Enola: **Nope, Tom's dreams have nothing to do with what Big V is up to. Besides, Voldemort doesn't go out to kill the Muggles himself as a general rule; he's the kind of guy who likes to have his flunkies do the dirty work of terrifying the wizarding populace and torturing Muggles on a day-to-day basis. He only comes out for the big stuff, I think. Tom just disappeared when the attack was being discussed because he had the opportunity, with everyone so well distracted.

He knows that Hermione is a Muggleborn, but calling her a Mudblood isn't really the best way to ingratiate himself to the Gryffs. As for Myrtle, she wouldn't really remember some random (if attractive) Prefect very well; she's too fixated on her own death and the girl who teased her to think much about other old faces. And remember, she didn't _see_ Tom when she died, just the snake's eyes; she doesn't know that he's responsible.


	20. A Sleepless Night

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry and Tom share something special.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:** That elusive you-know-what that you have all been waiting for is finally here. I humbly thank you for your patience, and your reviews ;) Sweet God, this chapter is long, but I wanted to finally get _it_ done. You know, _it_...

**Chapter Twenty: A Sleepless Night**

Draco Malfoy frowned suspiciously as he saw the metal door swinging open, seemingly of its own accord, which metal doors did not do as a general rule, even at Hogwarts. Yet there was no one around the opening door, and it swung shut loudly moments later, so he merely looked at it for a moment more, made a slight shrugging motion, and went back to his paper.

Harry Potter, meanwhile, let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as he stood directly outside the door with Tom, both of them covered in his Invisibility Cloak.

'Fast thinking,' Tom whispered approvingly, 'but I'm stuck.'

Harry looked and saw that a large part of the Cloak, the part covering Tom, was stuck in the door, and Tom was holding his leg up to his chest so it wouldn't be uncovered. It was an awkward position, and Tom was leaning on both the wall and on Harry to balance himself.

'Open the door a little and tug the cloak out,' Harry whispered back urgently. 'We have to get out of here before someone bumps into us.'

'I can't!' Tom replied. 'I'd have to reach my hand out of the Cloak!'

'We can't just stand here!'

'Someone will come along soon to open the door. See? Look at that couple in the far right corner.'

Harry did so. It was a boy and a girl, sitting in chairs set close together, talking in whispers. They appeared to be around fourteen and were looking at each other in a – Harry felt himself blushing – _suggestive_ way.

'So?' Harry asked. 'What about them?'

'They'll be wanting to use this closet soon enough. It's the Snogging Closet. Slytherins don't approve of public displays of affection, so if anyone gets too…well…' Tom couldn't seem to find the appropriate words to continue.

Harry snorted and let out a short laugh, and was glad, for once, that the room was so full, because no one could hear him. 'I see. Is that the _official_ name?'

'They're coming over!' Tom whispered.

'What if they bump into us?'

'Get ready to move as soon as they open the door!'

Harry and Tom moved as far away from the door as possible without tearing the Cloak or exposing Tom. The Slytherin boy came over, with the girl squeezing his bicep and humming as he fumbled for the doorknob.

The moment it opened, Tom tugged the Cloak out of the doorway and set his leg back down on the floor, sighing with relief. 'Now we need to wait for someone to leave and we can follow them out,' Tom whispered. They then walked stealthily over to stand about a foot away from the entrance, pressed close to the wall. They waited.

A half hour passed, and Harry was about to suggest that they sit down when the wall near them opened and Snape swooped right past them like a large, grimy bat. The chatter in the common room halted immediately.

'I'm afraid you will all have to stay here a little longer,' Snape said. 'The missing students have not yet been located.'

_That's why everyone's in here_, Harry thought apprehensively. _The teachers are looking for _us.

'So Potter's gotten himself into trouble again, Professor, and we all have to suffer for it?' Malfoy simpered.

'It would appear so, Mr. Malfoy,' Snape replied, with a sneer on his face that Harry realized must be directed at the mere _thought_ of him. 'But no doubt he will escape his proper punishment, as usual.'

'Dumbledore's always soft on him,' Malfoy agreed.

'Indeed. I should be getting back to the search. I will inform you when you are allowed to leave.' Snape turned on his heel, his cloak snapping behind him, and walked back to the entrance. Harry and Tom, covered by the Invisibility Cloak, walked as quickly and quietly as possible after him.

When they reached the dungeon hallway, and Snape walked straight ahead, Harry and Tom took another route to the left to get away from him.

'We should take off the Cloak,' Tom said abruptly, pulling it off his shoulders. 'It doesn't matter if we're found now. We'll have to explain, regardless.'

'Okay,' Harry agreed, pulling the Cloak off himself as well and stopping a moment to stuff it into his backpack. For the first time, he looked at his watch, and blinked. 'It's two in the afternoon! We've been missing for over five hours! No wonder they're on to us.'

Tom shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. 'Should we go to the Headmaster's office? I suspect that's where we'll ultimately end up, so we should save ourselves the extra walking and get it over with.'

'Good idea. It's not far.'

They were making their way up the stairs out of the dungeons when they heard footsteps in the hallway above them. Tom grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him down to crouch on the stairs, then they both looked over the top step to see who was coming.

It was Professors McGonagall and Sprout; they were walking toward where Tom and Harry were hiding. Professor McGonagall was blowing her nose into her handkerchief, and her eyes were red. Professor Sprout was patting her on the arm to comfort her.

'…and Albus is beside himself with worry,' they heard Professor McGonagall say thickly. 'He's been trying to find Myrtle to ask her if she's seen anything, but we haven't been able to even find _her_!' She nearly tripped, but Sprout steadied her.

'There, there, Minerva. We'll find them. Has Dumbledore checked the lake?' Professor Sprout asked.

'No, he's gone there now. He thinks he might at least find Myrtle there, if not the boys,' she sniffed.

Harry felt ashamed for a moment before he realized that this escapade wasn't _his_ fault. He gave Tom a half-hearted glare, and Tom smirked back, before the two of them stood up together.

'…and Potter's friends are terrified, we've had a job keeping them in the common –'

They both stopped dead, staring at the two students who had so miraculously just appeared.

Professor McGonagall's expression turned from sobbing concern to horrific anger in the short span of time it took her and Professor Sprout to walk over to them. Harry and Tom got to the top of the steps in time for her to begin her tirade.

'_Where have you two been?_ Do you have _any_ idea how concerned the staff – and _your_ _friends_, Mr. Potter – have become? Furthermore, class has been cancelled and students have been confined to the common rooms, _all because you decided to run off!_ Thank goodness you're all right,' McGonagall added at the end, swinging back from fury to relief.

'We didn't mean to worry everyone, Professor,' Harry replied sheepishly. 'Er, should we just wait in Dumbledore's office, then?'

'Yes,' she said, as her breathing slowed to normal. 'Yes, yes, that would be best. I will alert the other teachers and the students. Your friends will be relieved, I am sure.'

* * *

Harry and Tom were not sitting in chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk for very long before the Headmaster stormed in. He slammed the door behind him, loud enough to make even Tom jump, and strode over to his chair. He sat down and glared at them both with no kindness in his eyes. 'Explain.' 

There was a nervous pause before Harry turned to look at Tom expectantly. Tom then told Dumbledore about going down to the Chamber of Secrets and coming back up again, with Harry occasionally interjecting. Tom sometimes looked up from his lap, and he didn't like what he saw on Dumbledore's face when he did.

When the story was finished, there was another pause. 'Harry, you will not _ever_ rush into such danger again. You should have informed me straight away instead of going after Tom yourself.'

'There wasn't any danger,' Harry scoffed. Tom looked at Harry in alarm; he didn't think it was a very good idea to _scoff_ at Dumbledore when he was in such a mood. 'If I had thought there was, sir, I would have told you, but I knew Tom wasn't –'

'You did not know what you might find,' Dumbledore interrupted firmly.

'Yes, I did, sir,' Harry argued. Dumbledore's frowned curiously; it seemed that Harry's resistance was taking him by surprise. 'I knew that there wasn't a basilisk down there even if that _had_ been Tom's intention, and I knew it wasn't, because it wouldn't make any sense, sir, and you know it! It would be stupid to set that thing loose with both of us watching; we would obviously know who was behind it.'

'I am surprised that you have such faith, Harry,' Dumbledore said softly, all trace of anger remarkably gone.

'I have faith that he's not a total idiot, sir,' Harry replied simply. Tom had an urge to say something sarcastic, like 'Thanks,' but, as Harry said, Tom wasn't a total idiot, and he thought it would be better to let Harry handle Dumbledore, since he was doing so masterfully thus far. He kept his mouth shut.

'Tom,' Dumbledore turned his gaze on him, catching him in the eyes unawares. For some reason, what the Headmaster saw there made the smallest of smiles grace his lips. 'You did break our agreement, but taking Mr. Potter's testimony into consideration, I feel I have no choice but to forgive you this one trespass. I would warn you not to push me further.'

'Thank you, sir,' Tom replied formally.

'Do not thank me just yet. You will both be serving a week of detention with Professor Snape –'

'Snape?' Harry interjected. 'Why Snape?' Dumbledore gave Harry a quelling look over his spectacles, and Harry fell silent.

' – and fifty points from Gryffindor, I think,' Dumbledore concluded. 'As for why your detention will be with Professor Snape, it is because you both just confessed to me that you wandered into the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid will not be available to take your punishment, as he will be going away for a few weeks on holiday.'

Tom felt relieved that they were having detention with Snape now that he knew who they _might_ have had. He did think it strange for Hagrid to be going on vacation during term; no other teacher ever had except for medical emergencies in Tom's experience, but he couldn't bring himself to care. With that, Dumbledore dismissed them, and they walked through the still silent halls to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

By the time Harry and Tom got to the Gryffindor common room, people were streaming out into the hallways, the teachers having released them. There were three people waiting in the common room for them specifically, however: Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. Harry nudged Tom in the ribs when he saw how unnaturally pleased he looked when his eyes fell on Ginny to remind him – not very subtly – not to bother her. All three looked annoyed, to varying degrees. 

'Harry, where have you two been?' Hermione asked crossly. 'We missed all of Transfiguration and Ancient Runes because of you and classes have been cancelled for the rest of the day, so I suppose I'll miss History of Magic, too.' Even Hermione, however, didn't sound terribly unhappy about missing History of Magic.

'It's my fault,' Tom replied bashfully. 'I went to the Forbidden Forest, and Harry here,' he pointed his thumb at Harry, 'followed me in. I got lost, and it took him a while to find me.'

'Why did you go in there?' Hermione asked, astonished that Tom, of all people, would break rules so bluntly.

'I was curious,' he replied, a touch of shame in his voice. 'I had heard a lot about it from Harry and the name makes it sound _so_ interesting. I suppose I should have thought that it would be dangerous, too.'

'We're both fine, though,' Harry cut in. 'Tom and I didn't mean to put the whole school at a standstill.'

Hermione looked utterly frustrated. Even Ron was shaking his head. Ginny looked like she was trying her best not to look disbelieving and failing miserably. 'Harry,' Ron sighed, 'you know you shouldn't have done that. Imagine what we were thinking; we thought You-Know-Who might have got you.' Ron shuddered at the thought.

'We were trying to break out of the common room,' Hermione added, 'but the Fat Lady wouldn't open up. You had us worried sick. Well,' she added cautiously, with a sidelong look at Ron, 'maybe not all the time, but we, er, didn't think you'd be gone so _long_.'

Harry raised an eyebrow; it wasn't like Hermione to be so subtle when she was scolding, and Harry wondered what she was going on about.

'It won't happen again,' Tom assured her, sounding thoroughly repentant. 'I feel awful for dragging Harry into that place after me.'

'It's not your fault,' Hermione waved at him. 'You don't know any better. _Harry_, on the other hand,' she said sternly, 'should have called a teacher instead of wandering off… or, er,' and she got that same nervous look on her face again, 'you shouldn't have taken as much time, you know.' Harry was sure she was blushing now. _What is _that _all about?_

'I'll tell a teacher next time,' Harry replied fervently, trying to take a leaf out of Tom's book and tell her what she wanted to hear just to end this already lie-filled conversation. Hermione did seem satisfied after that, but she was only truly content once she heard that they were both getting a week's worth of detentions with Snape and fifty points off Gryffindor. She then got to work on her Arithmancy charts. Harry really wanted to ask Hermione if Hagrid had told her where he was going for the next few weeks during their Care of Magical Creatures class that morning, but before he could get her attention off her work to ask her, Ron walked up to him. _Just as good, _Harry shrugged. _Hagrid would have told Ron, too_.

Before Harry could open his mouth, however, Ron whispered, 'Could we go up to the dorm to talk for a couple minutes, Harry?'

'Sure,' Harry said. He looked around for Tom; he was already sitting next to Hermione on the couch, reading a book he had probably plucked from her bag as he so often did, which was fine by Harry, since Hermione wouldn't be reading anything about how to turn people inside out. Anyway, Ginny was still there, and Tom wasn't terribly likely to dash off for a while. Satisfied, Harry stood up; he frowned when he noticed Ron blushing. Ron grabbed him by the arm before he could ask what it was about, though, and pulled him upstairs with him.

They went inside their dorm and closed the door. Ron paced around the room once, his face still burning, before he sat on the edge of his bed. Harry sat next to him.

'Look,' Ron began, carefully not looking Harry in the eye, 'you see, Hermione thought I should be the one to bring this up to you, because I'm your best mate and all, and I'm, you know, another guy – though I don't really see why that matters,' Ron muttered. Harry didn't see how it mattered what gender Ron was to tell him about where Hagrid had gone off to, either. 'I, er, well, we've _noticed_, you know, Harry – well, Hermione has, I don't really pay attention to that sort of thing, but you know how _girls_ are… well, actually, I guess you don't… there was Cho, though…'

Ron was muttering again, and Harry was wondering if he was ever going to tell him where Hagrid was going. Finally, Ron managed to form a coherent sentence again. 'I thought you should know that it's okay by us, you don't need to hide it, and I don't have any problems with it at all… well, okay, when Hermione first mentioned it to me I thought she was mental, but it does seem pretty obvious after today…'

'Would you just get to the point?' Harry asked impatiently. He really didn't want to be sitting there listening to Ron's red-faced rambling for another hour.

Ron looked scared. 'I just _did_, didn't I? How much more plainly are you going to make me say it?' he pleaded. 'You and Tom. You don't have to hide it. Hermione and I don't mind.'

'What _about_ me and Tom?' Harry asked bewilderedly.

'Your relationship!' Ron squeaked.

'_What_ relationship?'

Ron frowned, looking puzzled. 'You mean you're not…?'

Harry suddenly realized what this was all about. 'Look, I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you and Hermione because of Tom. It's just that the Headmaster told me to watch out for him, so I've got to spend time with him, you know?'

Ron looked like he might cry out of frustration. '_No_, _that's_ not what I mean!'

'What is it, then?' Harry growled.

'_You and Tom! Together! Boyfriends!'_ Ron yelled abruptly. Then his face paled, the same way it did when Harry said Voldemort's name. 'Blimey, I don't believe I said it,' he muttered. 'Hermione really should have done this, I'm no good.'

Harry cracked a smile. Then he chuckled. 'You… you think _me_ and _Tom_ are… _Hermione_ thinks me and Tom are…?'

'It's the way you look at him,' Ron said seriously. He seemed relieved to have finally gotten the message across. 'Hermione picked it up.'

'I'm only looking _at_ him because I need to look _after_ him.'

'Yeah, but… Harry, you're _always_ looking at him,' Ron objected.

'Ron,' Harry said, looking into his eyes. 'Tom and I are _not_ together. The thought hasn't even crossed my… wait, did Hermione think _that's_ why Tom and I were missing?' he asked, remembering the way Hermione had been nervously trying to hint at something as she lectured Harry and Tom on their return.

'At first,' Ron admitted, 'but when you were gone so long we got worried… then when you came back together, and you both looked fine, yeah, that's what she thought.'

'Well, tell her we're _not_ for me, would you?' Harry sighed. 'I don't think I'm up to explaining.' Then he remembered why he had let Ron drag him up there in the first place. 'Did Hagrid tell you if he was going anywhere?'

Ron frowned. 'No. He told Hermione and me at the beginning of class to stay behind after, though, but then we were all called back here because you were missing.'

Harry groaned. 'Hagrid is going to be leaving for a few weeks, Dumbledore says. I was hoping he would have told you why he was going… and it sounds like he would have, if it weren't for me.'

'Well, it's too late now, so there's no point in worrying about it.' Then Ron, seeming like he wanted to cheer Harry up, said, 'Oh, and we have our first Hogsmeade weekend at Halloween, so just look forward to that in your detentions with Snape. Which reminds me…'

Ron started looking uncomfortable again, and Harry was praying to whatever deities there may be that he _not_ mention the idea of Harry and Tom together again. 'Actually, it's kind of too bad about you and Tom, in a way, because now I feel a bit more guilty about… well, I may as well say it… Hermione and I are going together to Hogsmeade,' he said quickly, his face flushing again.

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'So? We always go to Hogsmeade together.'

Ron ran a hand through his hair. 'No, no, Harry, I mean… _she_ and _I_. You know, on a… well… on a _date_,' he finished.

'Oh,' Harry said. 'Well, good on you,' he grinned, punching Ron lightly on the shoulder. Ron grinned, too. 'And don't worry about me; you just enjoy your date. I'm glad to see you two finally getting together. It's taken long enough.' Harry stood up, still grinning and, giving Ron the thumbs up, he walked out the door.

It took him just a few moments to hear Ron's cries echo from the dormitory: 'What do you _mean_, it took us long enough?' Harry just chuckled and walked faster down the stairs before Ron could catch up.

* * *

Harry found the string of detentions with Snape over the next week surprisingly bearable. He and Tom had to clean cauldrons and pickle gross things with Snape sneering at them all the while, but having detention with Tom turned out to be a lot like having detention with Ron, in that it made it more pleasant just being together. Harry turned that thought over in his mind, examining it; even if he was reluctant to admit it, he _did_ like Tom. He was intelligent and witty, and they had a lot in common, and when he smiled – _really_ smiled, not that fake stuff he gave to everyone else – his whole face lit up, and it made Harry feel like he'd done something very important. Harry still knew he shouldn't trust Tom, and that Tom was into the Dark Arts up to his eyeballs by most standards even if he hadn't had any opportunity to go further lately , _and_ that Tom was a cunning, manipulative, power-hungry Slytherin at heart. None of those bad things mattered much in detention, though, and they only mattered a little when they talked together at night, since they limited the things Harry could say. On the whole, they just weren't _important_ on a day-to-day basis. 

They had been spending more time together outside of their nighttime talks, too. Harry wanted to give Ron and Hermione more space, and liking Tom just made it easier, because he still had someone to talk to. Not that he didn't like talking with Neville or Seamus or Dean, but Seamus and Dean were best friends the way Harry and Ron were, and Neville… much as Harry felt guilty admitting it, Neville, while a very nice person and good to talk to sometimes, was hard to carry on a long conversation with without becoming bored. Harry's problem with Tom was quite the opposite; sometimes he just couldn't shut up.

So it was only natural that he and Tom go down to Hogsmeade together on Halloween weekend. At first, Harry had thought Dumbledore wouldn't allow it, but as time went by and Dumbledore didn't say Tom or Harry _couldn't_ go, Harry took that as an affirmative. He would admit, however, that he rushed Tom down to the village rather faster than he would have had he known they were allowed.

Once they were there, Harry felt the need, as he never had since his first visit, to see _everything_ all at once. Or, more accurately, he felt the need to show _Tom_ everything all at once; he didn't know how much the village might have changed since Tom's time, after all. There were probably a few new tricks in Zonko's Joke Shop since the forties, and maybe one of them would make Tom laugh – not that stupid, high, creepy, evil laugh, but the nice, deep, soft one Harry had heard only once, when he was telling Tom about the man who wore a dress to the Quidditch Cup because he liked a 'healthy breeze' round his privates. Harry had tried to make him laugh since then; he had even fallen off his broom into a mud puddle on purpose when he was flying down at the end of Quidditch practice that week, but Tom hadn't even cracked a smile. Hell, he had looked _pale_, and the rest of the team had wanted to take Harry to the Hospital Wing to get his head examined and have his broom tested for jinxes, convinced that nothing less than a brain tumor or foul play could make Harry fall off his broom.

So they went to the joke shop first, which Tom said had been expanded since he had last been there, and Harry went around the store showing Tom at least half the inventory. Tom didn't laugh, and they left earlier than Harry had wanted to because he could tell Tom was getting bored, but at least Tom _did_ smile for real when a Nose-Biting Teacup bit Harry on the nose. Then they went up the hill to the Shrieking Shack, which Tom already knew wasn't haunted because of Harry's stories, and then to Honeydukes.

* * *

'This place wasn't nearly so well stocked in my time,' Tom said, 'because of the war and all.' _It wasn't as crowded, either, _Tom thought apprehensively as he and Harry struggled to move through the throng. He wasn't worried that anyone else could eavesdrop – he had to practically shout for Harry to hear when they were standing beside each other – so mentioning his old life was safe. 

Just like in Zonko's, Harry seemed keen on showing him around, especially when he heard Tom hadn't seen it at its best before; unlike Zonko's, this time it was appreciated, especially when Tom learned that the tasty-looking lolly he was ogling would burn a hole through his tongue if he tried it. He ended up mostly purchasing some old favorites: Licorice Wands (which had hardly ever been in stock, and he hadn't had the money to buy more than one before), Chocolate Frogs, Jelly Slugs, and a handful of Pepper Imps (which were new to Tom).

Tom had never met someone he could relate to so well. Harry was clever – not brilliant, but he could find his way out of a tough situation like an expert, which Tom respected – and he shared Tom's sense of humor (well, he had thought so before Zonko's, anyway). Tom felt comfortable telling him more about himself than he had ever told anyone because Harry _understood_; he had lived through many of the same experiences himself, and he didn't look at Tom with that annoying pity Dumbledore had shown him when he was young. Even though Harry wasn't too interested in the Dark Arts, he was definitely good with a wand if even half his stories were true. He also appreciated that Harry had been really trying hard to help Tom with his flying, and he was almost an equal member of the team now because of it. Tom tried to help Harry with his homework in return – they almost inevitably talked instead of worked, though. And he hadn't had to go through a full nightmare since visiting the Chamber, and that alone made him happier than he could ever remember being.

If it weren't for Harry, he didn't know that he could have kept up being Tom Maxwell for so long; Harry didn't mind if Tom let the happy-go-lucky Gryffindor mask slip when it was just the two of them. That didn't mean that Harry wasn't still an idealistic, sometimes stupid, Dumbledore-loving Gryffindor prig, but all that seemed to go away when they were talking, or scrubbing cauldrons together, or sharing witty remarks at Malfoy's expense in the halls. Tom didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, of course, and he still had every intention of taking advantage of Harry's growing trust in him at the nearest opportunity, but that was all a given, and he figured he may as well enjoy Harry's company while it was there. No self-respecting Slytherin would deny himself a pleasure that also brought him closer to his goals, after all.

'Are you up for The Three Broomsticks next, Tom?' Harry asked, still having to talk loudly as they exited Honeydukes.

'Sure,' Tom replied. As they walked there, Tom flicked a beetle off his sleeve.

* * *

When they reached The Three Broomsticks, Harry looked around; he could see Parvati, Lavender, and Padma Patil sitting at one table gossiping, and decided he'd better stay away from there, unless he wanted to endure them drooling over Tom for several hours. At another, in a secluded corner, he saw Ron and Hermione, and that he _definitely_ wanted to avoid. Harry had decided on a table in another corner for himself and Tom when he heard someone shouting his name. 

'Oi! Harry, Tom, over here!' Seamus shouted. Harry felt his stomach sink as he turned toward the sound; sitting at the table were Seamus, Dean, Neville, Ginny, and…

'Fred? George?' Harry said in surprise.

'Wouldn't miss a Hogsmeade weekend,' Fred grinned. 'We came to see you and Ron and Ginny, but Ron's occupied,' he smirked, indicating Ron and Hermione's table.

'And about ruddy time, too,' George added. 'Come have a seat and introduce us to your friend.'

The introductions commenced, and when they were over, the group of eight was joined by Katie Bell, who gave Fred and George each a hug. Madam Rosmerta came over and the twins ordered a round of Butterbeers – their business, they said, was still booming.

* * *

Between all the excitement of a Hogsmeade weekend and the long time spent catching up with the Weasley twins, Harry was exhausted by the time the Halloween Feast began. Ron and Hermione weren't back yet, and Harry couldn't help but be thankful that he wouldn't be subjected to any more discussion that day. Since they weren't there, Tom and Harry ended up sitting alone together – Parvati and Lavender were busy flirting with a half-dozen Ravenclaw boys, for which Harry couldn't have been more grateful. 

He and Tom hadn't gotten a chance to talk much together all day, after all. It had been great seeing the twins again, but he had barely been able to get a word in edgewise to Tom until they headed back to the castle, and Tom hadn't been in much of a talking mood then. As a matter of fact, he had stayed quiet – almost sullen – when they were with the twins, and he didn't seem to be in a very good mood now, either.

Tom was sitting beside Harry, just beginning to pick at his food, an annoyingly neutral expression on his face, when Harry leaned over to him and whispered in his ear, 'I like a healthy breeze round my privates, thanks.' Tom nearly spit out his mouthful of pumpkin juice, but he did manage to swallow before cracking a grin.

'Arsehole,' Tom replied, turning to Harry and smirking, looking as though he was trying not to reach a full-fledged smile.

With the ice newly broken between them, Harry ate heartily between sentences as they discussed Ron's planned tactics for the upcoming Quidditch game against Slytherin, the answers to the Transfiguration quiz they'd had on Thursday, and other meaningless subjects that made things comfortable between them again. When he was finished dinner, Harry burped louder than he ever had in his life, and Tom laughed hard. Other people were laughing, too, but Harry could barely hear them. He felt ten feet tall, and how could he worry about Draco Malfoy jeering at him three tables away when he was a giant?

* * *

They were the first two back in the common room from their year, and even though Harry was exhausted, he didn't want the day to end. He and Tom played wizard chess together for the first time, six times, and Tom absolutely trounced him in each and every match. Harry did manage to extend the games for longer near the end, however, though it might have just been because Tom was playing with his eyes closed half the time for the last two rounds. 

But when two o'clock in the morning came and went – most of the others had gone to bed hours ago, and even Ron and Hermione had called it a night over an hour before – and Tom was falling asleep in his chair, Harry figured it was time to end the day. It had been long, but highly enjoyable.

'Finally conceding defeat, Potter?' Tom asked with a yawn as they ascended the stairs together.

Harry smiled. 'I'd have to get you dead tired _and_ drunk to even hope to get a draw out of you. At least Ron _lets_ me win sometimes.'

'A Slytherin,' Tom yawned again between words, 'never…'

'Yeah, yeah, you don't have to tell _me_, oh Great Lord of The House of Serpents,' Harry grinned, making a mock bow that was awkward on the narrow staircase.

'I like that,' Tom smiled, his eyes half closed. 'I'll have to use it some day. Don't expect any credit.'

Harry and Tom continued bantering tiredly as they made their way to the dormitory, and even continued in a whisper as they got ready for bed. Tom was _so_ exhausted that he was fumbling with the buttons of his robes, so Harry went to help him when he was finished struggling out of his own. He smirked and whispered, 'Funny how the great Serpent King can't even undress himself,' which earned him a swat on the head. He couldn't stand to stop the exchange even when Tom was crawling into bed – _Hell, he'd hex me for saying half these things if he were awake enough to hold a wand_ – so he rolled himself onto the other side of the bed and kept going. Harry was feeling giddy in the way that only the bone-weary could, but Tom was losing steam fast.

'So, tell me, how do you intend to – are you even listening?' Harry was lying face to face with Tom, speaking to him from a foot across the bed. He was too tired to bother sitting up, and Tom probably couldn't hear him unless he was this close, anyway, since he was falling asleep.

'No,' Tom murmured, snuggling deeper into the sheets.

Harry didn't feel much like moving; he remembered the textbooks and clothes he had thrown on his bed that morning so he could find his Sneakoscope to show Tom, and wasn't at all sure he had the energy to clear his bed off enough to sleep on it. _He won't even notice if I stay, he's already dead to the world._ So Harry wriggled under the covers. _Better_.

By the time he looked back, Tom was already asleep, and Harry was the same moments later.

* * *

It hardly seemed like he had been asleep at all when he was woken up by a fist colliding with his ear. Blinking himself to alertness, he saw that his ear was a casualty of one of Tom's nightmares; Tom was shaking his head madly, moaning and squirming on the other side of the bed. Harry felt himself suddenly and completely awakened by a burst of anger. _It's not fair! Why can't those stupid dreams just leave him alone for _one_ night?_

Harry threw his arms around Tom's chest under the sheets. 'Shh, shh, it's okay,' he whispered, holding on tightly as the thrashing slowly subsided.

'Harry?' Tom said, a few moments after his body stilled, patting his hand on Harry's head as if to make sure what he was seeing was real. 'Are you okay?'

Harry let go of Tom and shuffled back about half a foot. 'You were having another nightmare,' Harry whispered back. 'It's okay now.'

'Okay, thanks,' Tom whispered, rolling over onto his side towards Harry, his eyes slowly closing again.

It took Harry several long moments to notice that he had a hand on Tom's arm; Tom didn't seem aware of it at all. Harry lifted it away and settled it instead on the back of Tom's head; he had to scoot a little closer to do so, but he barely registered that when he felt Tom's hair. _It's soft_, he thought dully, his sleepy senses all concentrated on that single observation. Tom's eyes widened until they were halfway open again, and he was very still.

Harry watched Tom's eyelids flutter as he moved in, his hand not just touching Tom's hair now, but stroking it instead. That hand shifted down to Tom's neck as Harry came in so close that they were sharing each other's breath; when Harry pressed his lips to Tom's, just to see if they were as soft as his hair, that hand pulled Tom in nearer.

And just like that, without even thinking anything like _I want to kiss him,_ or _I wonder if he'd mind if I kissed him,_ or _wouldn't it be _nice_ if I kissed him?_ Harry was kissing him, and his lips were even softer than his hair.

* * *

Tom kissed him back, and he didn't think about it, either. 


	21. Shyness and Misunderstandings

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry and Tom try to understand their feelings, and have an awful second kiss.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Rating is down as T for now but _may_, _possibly_, increase to M as things progress.  
**Author's Note:****IMPORTANT –** we have reached that point in the story at which I would like reader input regarding the rating. **If you aren't comfortable reading a fic with a rating greater than T, now would be a good time to say so.** That's not to say I don't intend to write an M-rated version anyway, but I could easily post that elsewhere and keep the version clean. However, that does mean extra work for me, so if no one cares what the rating is, I won't bother.

**Chapter Twenty-One: Shyness and Misunderstandings**

When Harry woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, he knew that the proper, dramatic, _dutiful_ thing to do after having kissed his greatest enemy just a few hours before would be to run to the bathroom and vomit, yet he couldn't think of anything he felt like doing less. He tried hard to make himself feel sick about it, but other thoughts kept filtering through his brain as he tried to concentrate on the most vomit-inducing thing he could think of (naked Snape). One was that it hadn't been a _real_ kiss; it wasn't as though he had had his tongue in Tom's mouth or anything, it had only been lips on lips – they had practically just pressed their faces together, that was all.

That wasn't what it had _felt_ like, though; he had kissed someone before, after all – Cho Chang – and if _that_ was what a real kiss was like, Harry would take pressing faces together with Tom over kissing any day of the week. No, what he and Tom had done had to be classified as kissing, and when he thought about it, it made him feel more warm and peaceful than ill by far. There was also the more practical consideration that Seamus and Dean were talking in loud whispers as they dressed, and if Harry was to stumble out of Tom's bed vomiting when he ought to be asleep in the next bed over, there were bound to be uncomfortable questions and even more uncomfortable rumors. So Harry stayed still and quiet, staring at the ceiling as the room grew brighter.

When the _big_ question came to him, Harry had to say he was surprised that it hadn't been the first issue to come to mind: was he gay? He didn't think so, but how could he know for sure? He tried to envision himself kissing Neville the way he had kissed Tom, and nearly gagged. He tried to imagine kissing Ron; he thought he might actually have found an idea more repulsive than naked Snape. Then he imagined kissing Fred (or George) and he had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. Harry had never wanted to kiss another boy before, and he had definitely been happily attracted to girls up to this point. Harry frowned, and turned his head to look at Tom.

Tom was still asleep, facing Harry, his breath escaping softly from his slightly parted lips. Something stirred in Harry's stomach when he looked at him, and his frown melted. It was not arousal, exactly, but an odd mixture of protectiveness and something else he couldn't place that made him want to kiss him again. _It makes no sense at all_, Harry thought to himself, thoroughly bewildered. _I'm not attracted to any other boys._ To be fair, though, Harry had never felt this way about a girl before, not even Cho. Sure, he had always gotten really nervous when he saw her, but he hadn't felt like he had to stop himself from kissing her when he looked at her, nor had he wanted to wrap his arms loosely around her and just stay like that for the rest of the day.

Harry lay there for some time, waiting for the voices around him to fade away. Some of them did, but then others would turn up, and the ones from before would come back into the dorm. He told himself he'd leave as soon as he stopped hearing them, but all he really wanted was to stare at Tom. He wanted to do other things, too, but those things might wake Tom up, and the one part of Harry's brain that wasn't feeling warm and tingly was feeling very, very nervous about what Tom might do once he woke up. Tom hadn't been fully awake when _it_ had happened, and Harry wondered, with a flush of guilt, whether Tom might not have realized what he was doing. He couldn't remember whether or not Tom had kissed him back; all he could recall were how soft his lips were and how hot the back of Tom's neck had been against his hand. Harry couldn't even remember what had happened after the kiss or when he had fallen asleep. And even if Tom had kissed him back, how much did that mean if he was half-asleep as he did so? To Harry, the idea of kissing Tom again felt very much like a foregone conclusion, but he didn't want to lose Tom's friendship, either.

No objection to Harry kissing Tom again other than Tom not wanting to be kissed could manage to stick itself to Harry's brain. The rest, about Tom's identity, Harry's identity, and all the other practical reasons why he shouldn't even consider kissing Tom again were bouncing off like raindrops. All Harry cared about was whether those reasons would bounce off Tom, as well.

As Harry became more and more awake, and began to take in the conversation outside the curtains, the nervous part of him became gradually larger and more important. When the voices finally left, and the door closed behind them, Harry found himself bolting out of Tom's bed and into his own. After a few minutes of staring up at the ceiling again with his Transfiguration textbook digging into his back, Harry got up, got dressed, and went down to join the voices in the common room. He had already missed breakfast, not that he thought his stomach could manage to keep down food until Tom gave him some kind of answer that made it stop doing somersaults. The idea that Tom would be furious and never speak to Harry again made him feel sick in a way that a hundred naked Snapes couldn't hope to match.

* * *

Tom's eyes fluttered open only when the sun was already high in the sky. He was still warm and groggy, and he closed them again without another thought.

* * *

'Tom's sure having a lie-in today, isn't he?' Ron commented some time around noon as he moved his rook. He and Harry were playing wizard chess. 'It's not like him. He's usually up at dawn. He won't freak out about having missed doing homework all morning, will he?' 

'He's already finished,' Hermione muttered, erasing some words off her Ancient Runes essay.

'It's almost like he can channel the answers from the air, isn't it?' Ron asked, tapping his head. 'Maybe he's so good at Divination that he can suck the answers out of the teacher's brains.'

Hermione didn't bother responding to this frivolous comment. 'Are you ever going to start working, Harry?' she asked him irately, not looking up from her essay. 'You could do with taking a leaf out of Tom's book. _He_ finished everything before going to Hogsmeade yesterday.'

The last topic Harry wanted to discuss at that moment was Tom. Of all the days for Tom to sleep past noon, it had to be the one when Harry's mental health was depending on him. He knew there was no way he could get any homework done, so he had resigned himself to playing wizard chess with Ron. At first Ron had wanted to go flying, and Harry knew that would probably make him feel better, but then he wouldn't be there when Tom woke up, and he'd have to suffer this torment of not knowing where they stood for even longer.

'Harry's too distracted to work, Hermione. He's never played a worse game of chess,' Ron said sagely as Harry moved his queen into position and Ron's knight took her.

Hermione looked up from her work in concern at that, and even Harry was drawn from his thoughts. If _Ron_ could notice that something was wrong with Harry, then Harry must have grown a third arm, which must be holding up a 'Help me!' sign.

Hermione appeared alarmed the moment she laid eyes on him. 'Something _is_ wrong! Tell us!' she said, throwing her book and her parchment on the couch and coming over to sit in the chair beside him.

'I'm okay,' he lied unconvincingly.

'He keeps looking up at the stairs to the dormitory,' Ron said quietly, a slight triumphant smirk on his lips.

'Oh!' Hermione said; she smiled for a brief moment, but then it dropped away. 'But why are you so upset?'

'It's nothing, really,' Harry said. 'And I'm only looking up the stairs because I'm waiting for Tom to come down; it isn't like him at all to sleep in like this. I hope he isn't sick.'

Hermione wasn't buying it. Even Ron wasn't buying it. 'Funny how you seem so desperate when you're looking for him,' Ron added, smirking fully now and glancing meaningfully at Hermione.

'I told you, I'm _worried_!' Harry replied frantically. _That's true, anyway_, he thought bitterly. 'That's _all_, really!' He didn't know why he didn't want to share his thoughts with Ron and Hermione; he just _didn't_ want to talk about it with anyone except Tom. 'We are _not_ involved!'

'Okay, okay,' Ron said, blushing wide-eyed. 'Sorry. You are acting off today, though.'

'I had a late night,' Harry muttered. 'I'm just tired.'

'If you say so,' Hermione said, sounding unconvinced but unwilling to push. 'Just remember to talk to us if there ever _is_ anything bothering you, okay?'

Harry nodded at the very moment that he heard the stairs creaking. Swiveling his head abruptly, he saw Tom walking down, yawning.

'Good morning!' Tom smiled at them. _Merlin, not that fake smile again_, Harry thought in frustration. _I'm going to rip it off his face._

'More like afternoon,' Ron replied, looking again at his watch. 'Guess we may as well go down for lunch.' He stood up and stretched.

And go down for lunch they did. Harry ate like a bird, despite not having had breakfast, and stole surreptitious glances at Tom to see if he could figure out _anything _about what he might be thinking. It was no good, though; Tom was making easy conversation with Hermione, and didn't seem to be thinking about Harry at all. Ron, oddly, didn't look at all jealous, and Harry knew it was because he had decided that Tom's interests lay in other areas. In fact, Ron joined in Tom and Hermione's conversation far more than usual, and when Seamus and Dean and Parvati joined them around the House table, the talking only became more animated and left Harry feeling more isolated and edgy.

It didn't get better afterward. Tom and Hermione stopped by the library to pick up books; Harry was too annoyed to bother checking the titles Tom was taking out to make sure they were appropriate. Then Tom sat in the common room and read for hours, occasionally chatting genially with other Gryffindors, but never once turning toward Harry, not even sending him _one_ reassuring or even damning glance. Harry tried to do his homework – he had a Transfiguration assignment due the next day – but he only managed to write a few sloppy sentences before dinner.

An hour after dinner had ended, Harry and Ron were still working on Transfiguration, and Harry had gone from annoyed to furious. He put his quill to his parchment so fiercely that he ripped it, and Hermione had to perform a Mending Charm on it before he could keep writing – not that it mattered, because he was writing rubbish anyway. Professor McGonagall would not be impressed.

'Want help?' called a cheerful voice from above him.

Harry looked up from his essay to see that stupid, unreal smile pointed down at him, and he snarled, 'No.'

Tom's face crumbled in a way Harry had never seen before; the smile might not have been real, but the dismay was, and Harry felt, as he looked into the face of the young man who had grown up to murder his parents and countless others, like he had kicked a puppy.

Tom walked away without another word before Harry could voice an apology, and Ron turned a dirty look on him. 'Just because you two are having a lover's spat, you don't have to make my homework suffer for it,' he said angrily.

Harry turned back to his work, but he could only stare at the pages blankly, feeling sick. He nearly choked when he remembered how blissful he had felt the previous evening. He noticed Ron pat him on the shoulder, but Harry shook his head and kept staring down, and Ron left him alone. McGonagall wouldn't even be getting a completed essay to grade.

* * *

Tom couldn't manage to read even a sentence of the book he had nabbed from the library after Harry's outburst. He noticed Hermione glancing at him, and tried to look like he was still reading, even turning the pages occasionally. Tom regretted ever taking out the stupid book; it was a new edition of a book he had read before, filled with semi-legal, not _quite_ Restricted Section material that he knew Harry wouldn't have approved of if he knew about it. Tom hadn't even intended to take it out; Harry always checked what he was getting to make sure it was Light reading, and Tom had thought Harry would object, and that they would get a chance to talk, but Harry had completely ignored him in the library instead. 

And now Tom knew why. Tom had been nervous ever since he had woken up early that afternoon. He didn't fully understand what had happened the night before when they kissed, but he had been hoping that, whatever it was, Harry wouldn't hold it against him.

Harry _had_ held it against him. He had been ignoring Tom all day except for sending him occasional glares, but even then Tom had thought that if he let Harry know that he wanted to forget it ever happened, they could go on as normal; Harry could forgive him, as he had forgiven him before. But Harry had made it completely clear that he wanted nothing more to do with Tom, and Tom couldn't blame him; he had destroyed the only friendship he ever had.

He hadn't meant to kiss Harry that night. Harry had had his hand on Tom's neck, and he had been so _close_, and it had just happened without Tom even thinking. What he hated most of all was that he had enjoyed it, no matter how horribly awful he knew it to be. Tom was already strange in so many ways, and he knew he'd done bad things, but he hadn't felt half as terrible about those as he did about revealing to Harry that he was queer. Even worse, Harry was his second cousin twice removed; it was not only queer, but incestuous.

What frustrated Tom most of all was that he hadn't even been _thinking_ of Harry in that way. Not even that night, when Harry had helped him get undressed, and they had been lying together mostly naked in bed, had any sinful thoughts crossed Tom's mind. He had seen Harry nude before in the showers after Quidditch, but it had been just like seeing anyone else nude; he had thought Harry was _safe_, that he wouldn't even have to worry about that queer nonsense with him.

But it was over now. He had known it would have to end eventually – he had _plans_, he had no intention of obeying Dumbledore's dictum forever, and then Harry would turn on him – but he hadn't expected it to be so soon. He had expected to know well beforehand when he would be cutting ties with Harry. Now there was no preparation, and Tom hated not being in control.

He stood up abruptly, surprising even himself, and closed his book. He walked up to the dormitory, forcing himself not to look at Harry, and then he took off his shoes and threw himself into bed, closing the curtains around him. His head sitting on his knees, which were curled up to his chest, Tom thought fancifully about what he could do to regain control of the situation. _I could make another diary,_ he said to himself, unconsciously biting his lip. _I could make a diary of Harry. I know so much about him that it would be easy! I could imbue all that I know about Harry into it. Then I could set that Harry free of the diary with Harry's own blood – yes, that's perfect, I could make a magical shell and spill Harry into it, making him what I want to be. He would be just the same, except he wouldn't remember last night at all…_

* * *

If Harry had known that Tom was currently plotting his demise, his guilt may have subsided; on the other hand, he may not have blamed Tom for wanting him dead at that particular moment, because Harry felt like he might be better off that way. Once a few minutes had passed since Tom's departure, Harry got up, leaving his Transfiguration homework in the common room, and walked up the stairs himself. _Maybe he'll accept my apology,_ he thought hopefully as he climbed the stairs. He didn't think of Tom as being particularly forgiving, but maybe he'd just hex Harry and then consider them square if he begged nicely. 

Harry's insides were like glue when he opened the door to the dormitory. He slipped off his shoes by the bed and, throwing caution to the wind – _he's going to hex me anyway if this goes _well – Harry threw open Tom's curtains, leaped onto the bed, and shut them behind him.

Harry took a good look at Tom, who was sitting curled up on the other side of the bed, looking thoroughly shocked. _He's so surprised he hasn't even gone for his wand_, Harry realized, but in the time it took him to finish the thought Tom _did_ grab his wand. He didn't point it at Harry; he merely held it tightly in his left hand and looked Harry in the eyes suspiciously.

'Tom,' Harry began, figuring that he'd better get it over with before his courage failed him or Tom hexed him into next Tuesday, 'I'm really, really, _really_ sorry for snapping at you downstairs. Could you forgive me, _please_?' he pleaded.

Tom was blinking furiously as if expecting Harry to disappear each time he closed his eyes; his mouth was hanging open. 'You… you want me to forgive you?' he said quietly, regaining his composure.

'I know you don't have any reason to,' Harry said quickly, 'but I honestly didn't mean to hurt your feelings –'

'You didn't hurt my feelings!' Tom scowled.

'Well, whatever I did, I'm sorry!' Harry finished, knowing that he _had_ hurt Tom's feelings even if Tom wouldn't admit it under anything less than Veritaserum.

The two of them sat on the bed in silence, Harry breathing hard from anxiousness, looking at Tom hopefully. Finally, Tom said, 'I thought you were angry with me.'

'No, I wasn't,' Harry said. 'Well, I _was_ angry, but only because I thought you were avoiding me all day –'

'I wasn't avoiding you!' Tom snarled. '_You_ were avoiding _me_!'

'What?' Harry said in amazement. Then it struck him. 'No, no, wait…'

If he hadn't still been terrified that Tom wasn't going to forgive him, Harry would have laughed. It all made sense: he had been waiting all day for Tom to come talk to him, and Tom had been waiting for Harry to do the same, and they had both botched things up so terribly that it would have been comical if the problem were already fixed. As it was, they had a long way to go.

'Tom,' Harry started, more calmly than before, trying to sound soothing so that Tom would listen, 'I thought you were ignoring me all day because you were mad at me about last night.'

Tom frowned and wrapped his arms around his knees. He looked at Harry in a way that uncannily resembled fear – but why would Tom be afraid? 'I thought _you_ were mad at _me_ about last night,' he whispered, turning away.

'_What?_' Harry gaped. 'You thought _I_ was mad at _you_? _Why?_ I was the one who started it!'

Tom looked surprised again. 'You-you were? I… I thought…'

'What did you think,' Harry smiled, feeling so relieved that they were finally getting somewhere that he couldn't help himself, 'that you forced me to hold your head to my mouth while I kissed you?'

Tom's looked completely confused. 'You did that?'

'Yes,' Harry replied firmly. 'So if anyone should be mad, it ought to be _you_.'

An uncomfortable silence descended again. Harry's relief faded; _would_ Tom forgive him, now that he knew it was his fault?

'You're queer?' Tom asked, sounding disbelieving.

Harry didn't know what to say. 'I don't know. I didn't even consider the idea until last night.'

Then, pooling all his Gryffindor bravery into his voice, he said, 'I know that I liked kissing you, though, and I want to do it again.'

Silence descended again, but this time it wasn't empty; it was building up to something moment by moment – Harry could see Tom's brain working, wrapping itself around what it had heard, and Harry held his breath, waiting for an answer.

'I-I liked it, too,' Tom whispered, and Harry managed to breathe, 'but I don't want to do it again.' He seemed to shrink back into the bed as he spoke, as if he were trying to hide.

Harry frowned and moved in closer; he wasn't about to let it end like that after Tom had just admitted that he had enjoyed himself. 'But… but you said you liked it. Why not do it again?'

'Because it's wrong!' Tom shouted suddenly.

Harry was taken by surprise, and he flinched. 'What do you _mean_, it's _wrong_? What's wrong about it?'

'You know what's wrong,' Tom said accusingly. 'It's queer _and_ incestuous.'

Tom sounded so serious about these supposedly horrid accusations that Harry almost laughed in his face at the absurdity of Tom finding kissing a distant male relative more morally repugnant than lying, manipulation, and murder. _He's a bloody sociopath… and since when does he find _anything_ too immoral?_ It wasn't like they were really related, anyway.

Harry knew he had to play it serious, though; Tom wasn't the sort of person to enjoy being laughed at, no matter how much he deserved it. 'First of all,' he tried to explain with a straight face, 'being queer isn't considered wrong in the 1990s by most people in this part of the world. You can ask Hermione and Ron if you want; they would tell you the same thing. It's completely accepted practice.' Harry congratulated himself on making it sound so clinical.

'It is? Why? It's not normal,' Tom protested, though Harry could tell that his resolve was faltering.

'Neither is being magical to Muggles,' Harry pointed out, 'but that doesn't mean magic is wrong, does it? I'm telling you, opinions have changed, okay? There are still some people who take your view about it being wrong, but they're prejudiced arseholes.'

Tom smirked. 'You're calling me a prejudiced arsehole?'

'Yes,' Harry smiled.

'And people are kissing their cousins regularly in this time, too?'

Now Harry was uncomfortable. 'Er, no,' he said hastily, 'but it's not as if we're _very_ close relatives. It wouldn't be illegal or anything. It would be strange, but I don't think of you as family, and you don't think of me as family, and no one else thinks of us as family, so…' he trailed off, watching Tom's face hopefully.

* * *

Tom didn't know what to think. Harry didn't seem to mind that kissing him was queer, and he wasn't bothered that it was incestuous. Tom was nearly annoyed with him; Tom didn't _like_ playing the part of the prude. It was _Harry_ who was supposed to _faint_ at the idea of a queer relationship with his cousin. He was actually impressed that Harry was so immoral, and he couldn't help but smile.  
_

* * *

I don't know how much of that got through his thick skull, but he's smiling, and that's a good sign_. 'So,' Harry continued, 'I-I liked kissing you, and you liked kissing me. That's not to say we have to kiss again,' Harry added quickly, seeing Tom start to unconsciously recoil again, 'but we could keep going on as we were before and not let it bother us that we kissed, and if you ever _do_ want to kiss again,' he added slowly, 'you could just say 'Harry, I wouldn't mind if you want to kiss me,' and I'll kiss you. Deal?' 

'That sounds acceptable,' Tom replied neutrally, 'but what if you don't want to kiss me?'

The memory of the kiss was brought suddenly back to Harry with full force, and it made him smile peacefully. 'You won't have to worry about that. I'd kiss you right now if you'd let me.'

'Really?' Tom asked suspiciously.

'Definitely,' Harry said.

'So if I told you that I wouldn't mind if you kissed me,' Tom said, abruptly uncurling himself, stretching his legs, and leaning back on the palms of his hands, 'you would kiss me?'

'That's what I said,' Harry replied, a slight edge to his voice.

'And if I told you to stop, would you stop?' Tom asked, narrowing his eyes.

'Of course.' It hadn't ever occurred to Harry to kiss Tom if he didn't want him to.

'Fine.' Tom sat up, cross-legged, facing Harry. He raised an eyebrow, smirked, then said, 'I wouldn't mind if you kissed me.'

* * *

Tom didn't know what made him say it. He really _did_ mind if Harry kissed him, thank you very much, but he was curious, too. This was a bizarre new kind of power, to be able to make Harry either kiss him or leave him alone with just a few words. Tom supposed he just wanted to see if it really worked, like testing out a new spell even though he didn't need to use it. 

Harry crawled over to Tom a little faster than Tom had been expecting. He had thought he'd have more time to prepare, but Harry was suddenly there, looking at him, and Tom's body stiffened as Harry's face got close. Tom closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his chest.

To his surprise, he felt Harry's hand in his hair again, and he tensed further, waiting. Harry's breath coasted over his cheek, and Tom would have turned his head toward it if Harry wasn't holding him still – when had his other arm grabbed Tom's shoulder?

'Shh,' Harry whispered to his ear. 'It's okay, you're all right.'

Tom felt as though he recognized that tone from somewhere, but he couldn't place it, and his brain was getting foggier by the moment. He unconsciously relaxed when he heard it, and Harry's hand slipped behind his neck.

* * *

Tom was nervous, Harry could tell, but he thought he would be able to manage it if he was as gentle and slow as possible. He didn't have much experience – he didn't know, intellectually, what 'gentle' and 'slow' would be – but he felt that he must be doing something right, because Tom _was_ relaxing. He drew away from Tom's ear, back towards his mouth, kissing him softly but firmly on the cheek on the way.

* * *

Tom shivered as Harry kissed him on the cheek. He was nervous, he didn't know what he'd gotten into, and he wanted to tell Harry to stop, but his voice wasn't working. He stayed still and tried to control his breathing. Then Harry's lips were at his mouth, and they pressed into his. His own lips twitched, pushing back, and it felt _different_ from last night, but it was still warm, and Tom liked the warmth.

* * *

It was too still, Harry realized with a frown. There had been more movement with Cho; he didn't just sit there stupidly pressing his lips. It didn't seem like _enough,_ the way it had the night before, so he opened his mouth.  
_

* * *

He's licking my lips_, Tom thought suddenly, and it was such a funny thought that he would have laughed if he hadn't drawn in a sharp breath and found the exploring tongue in his mouth a moment later.

* * *

The taste was amazing. It was wet and warm and _Tom_, and Harry was unconsciously moving both his hands down Tom's back to get a better grip on him, to pull him _closer_.

* * *

Harry was pulling at him, pulling him forward, but Tom's legs were in the way; he went from sitting cross-legged to kneeling without giving it any thought, because he was too caught up in how weird it was to have another tongue in his mouth.

* * *

Harry knew something was wrong when he felt Tom tense up again, and his tongue was recoiling from Harry's every time they touched. Harry tried for a few moments to coax it out from different angles, but it was no good. Though his body was screaming _don't you dare pull away, don't you dare_, Harry knew, sadly, that it was unfair.

* * *

Tom was confused when Harry pulled away; the entire experience had been massively confusing. It had been nice at first, but the tongue part had been strange, and Tom touched his fingers to his lips, as if to make sure it was gone. 

Harry looked disappointed, and Tom felt like he had over a month ago when he had been struggling to mount a broom.

* * *

'I'm sorry,' he heard Tom whisper. Tom was scooting away from him again, to the other end of the bed. 

'No,' Harry looked him in the eye and grabbed him by the arm to stop him. 'Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong.'

'You're disappointed.'

'It's not your fault,' Harry said firmly. 'I pushed you too hard, that's all. You've never kissed anyone before, have you? Before me, I mean.'

Tom shook his head, looking mortified. 'If you ever tell anyone that,' Tom said gruffly, 'me being an awful kisser will be the least of your problems. Kissing hasn't ever been on my list of things to learn before,' he added wryly.

Harry smiled. 'You'll get better. It's not like I'm a world-class kisser either. We'll figure it out.'

* * *

It had been an awful kiss, but they both improved over the following ten days. They didn't kiss every night; Tom was still extraordinarily shy, and Harry had to struggle to relax him over the course of an hour or two of conversation each time. Their nights, in fact, were much as they had been before they had started kissing, with Harry calming Tom's nightmares, and the two of them talking casually together. The only major difference was that they were physically closer to each other, and Harry was usually running a hand down Tom's arm or neck as they sat together in the dark. Tom sometimes reached out to touch Harry's hand; those were always the nights Harry knew he'd manage a kiss by the end. 

When Harry thought of how many couples he saw regularly around Hogwarts kissing in public as if it was nothing (not in front of teachers, certainly, but publicly enough for other students to know who was with whom), and how long it took for Tom to be comfortable kissing gently in private, he realized how painfully shy of touching Tom really was. He still froze when Harry first reached out to him, and he still apologized after every time they kissed, but he _was_ getting better, they both were, and Harry's pride in Tom for trying far outweighed any lingering doubts or disappointment. He knew that Tom hated not being a natural prodigy at something, and the fact that he was making a determined effort to not let his fear paralyze him showed strength of character that Harry was impressed by.

Harry wondered sometimes, when he was back in his own bed, _why_ Tom was so nervous about being touched. Their childhoods had been so similar in so many ways – neither had received any affection, and they had both been bullied – but Harry wasn't _frightened_ of touch, and Tom couldn't bear to even have Harry's arm around him on a couple particularly bad nights. Their lives had been similar, yes, but their reactions to the way they had been treated were, in this case, diametrically opposed. Harry enjoyed hugs and pats and kisses; Tom had to go against his instincts to not recoil from them. It made that protective part of Harry surge to the forefront; when it came to touching, even Tom's acting ability and ill-tempered comments couldn't hide his vulnerability, and Harry was almost flattered by the fact that only _he_ saw Tom flustered and nervous, for the same reason that he liked keeping Tom's real smiles and laughs to himself.

Harry hadn't yet discussed his relationship with Tom with Hermione and Ron; he knew they suspected, but Harry didn't think Ron would be too comfortable with the idea of his best friend making out with another boy in the bed across from his own while he was sleeping. Furthermore, Harry didn't think Tom could take the idea of other people knowing yet, so they were discreet, acting no differently during the day than they had before. Nor did Harry forget his duty to keep Tom on the straight and narrow; he watched him as closely as ever, but now he took more pleasure in it, and Tom was looking back more often than not. Altogether, their rocky new relationship was going as well as he could ever have reasonably expected it to.

All too soon, that relationship, subtle and growing, was put to the test.  
**

* * *

wizzan:** Rita could become quite a problem, couldn't she? I doubt Rita would dare to _write_ anything too inflammatory about Harry given the fact that Hermione could still turn her in at any time, but writing isn't the only way to cause problems.

**Black Perla: **The dreams will be discussed again soon...

**DarkMarklv:** We'll find out Tom's reaction when he learns of his true identity in approximately… drumroll… two chapters, I think.

**Kuri the Harbinger of Night: **It's safe to say that any time I mention a beetle, I'm not doing it because Hogwarts has a natural beetle infestation ;)

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy:** Yes, she did hear Tom say that, and that's what's going to set things in motion very soon.

**Shattered Diamond:** I keep oscillating back and forth on whether I'm going to do that. At this point, I think yes, but it won't be for a while because of Occlumency.


	22. Thoughts Uncontrolled

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom and Harry explore their relationship further, and Tom escapes Hogwarts.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M. **If you think I have inserted any content that you would consider to be above an M rating, please tell me in a review and I will remove it.** Frankly, I consider the ratings guidelines to be extremely vague and unhelpful. I've tried to keep to 'strong but non-explicit adult themes,' but I'm not a mind reader.  
**Author's Note:** I know that you've all been waiting for Tom to find out The Truth, and you won't have to wait much longer :)

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Thoughts Uncontrolled**

The Quidditch match against Slytherin in mid-November was highly satisfying, but Harry was relieved that it was over. Gryffindor had won by two hundred ten points, with Harry catching the Snitch after about a half-hour of play. Neither Keeper had performed very well; Ron had kept looking into the stands avidly throughout the game, letting the Quaffle through twice without any resistance. He had become more agitated as the game progressed. The Slytherin keeper, Nott, had been similarly distracted, which was why Gryffindor had been sixty points up when the Snitch was caught.

Tom had scored two goals, and had kept playing even after getting his wrist broken by a Bludger. Harry had yelled at Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, the Gryffindor Beaters, for a full three minutes when he found out after the game before Ron stopped him, saying Harry sounded like one of his mum's Howlers. Madam Pomfrey had healed Tom in moments, of course, and the entire team was impressed with Tom for managing to play almost normally when he must have been in a lot of pain; the Beaters were sitting warily on the other side of the common room together, however, trying to avoid Harry, who still glared at them occasionally.

Ron walked over to Harry as the team celebrated afterward, looking morose. Tom was sitting on a couch next to Harry, as close as they dared in public, each with Butterbeer in one hand and food in the other. 'What's wrong, Ron?' Harry asked. 'Don't beat yourself up about letting those goals through. We won, anyway.'

Ron shook his head. 'I just _had_ to screw up today, didn't I? It's not like I was expecting to be scouted, anyway, but –'

'Huh?' Harry said through a mouthful of pastry.

Ron looked at Harry incredulously. 'You mean you didn't _know_? Harry, the scouts were out there today! You know, for professional Quidditch! They were looking for new talent! Not that _you_ have to worry about showing off for them,' he added bitterly.

Harry gulped down his mouthful and replied, 'Don't be like that. It's not my fault the scout saw you miss two saves.'

He sighed and collapsed into a chair. 'I know.'

'Is that why you were so nervous?' Harry asked.

'Yeah.'

There was a pause as all three took a swig of Butterbeer at once. 'They're going to be interested in you, Harry,' Ron said, sounding not at all bitter this time, but matter-of fact. 'You're an excellent Seeker, probably the best Hogwarts has ever had. You're even better than Charlie, and the scouts approached him halfway through his seventh year, but he turned them down.'

'Harry?' Tom snorted. 'Play professional Quidditch? Doesn't he have better things to do with his time?'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Harry and Ron both asked at once.

'I thought you wanted to be an Auror,' Tom pointed out. 'That's what you told _me_, anyway, but if you were lying –'

'No, no!' Harry cried. 'I wasn't lying, but I'm not exactly decided on it.' Harry couldn't bear to put much energy into thinking about whether he wanted to be an Auror or play Quidditch. The Prophecy hung over his head like an executioner's axe, and he still hadn't told anyone about it, not even Tom – especially not Tom. 'I wouldn't mind hearing what a Quidditch scout had to say, that's all.'

'It pays better,' Ron offered, 'and it's not as though you need more trouble.'

When he saw Tom's closed expression, Harry really wished Ron hadn't mentioned trouble. Tom was a bit touchy about how much 'trouble' (also known as 'fun' or 'hands-on experience' in Tom's vocabulary) Harry had experienced over the years without making any effort to get into it. As much as Tom looked tense and expectant when Harry told him about being cornered by You-Know-Who and thirty Death Eaters in his fourth year and being face-to-face with a Dementor in his third, they were still only stories to him, not reality. Tom thought it would be grand to be in Harry's position, 'poking your head out of Hogwarts at least once a year for a good spot of trouble and then going back to studying without even getting detention,' as Tom had called it. Tom could understand a lot of aspects of Harry's life, but the fact that Harry didn't enjoy dueling Death Eaters and Dementors wasn't one of them.

Tom's face brightened quickly, though, as it always did, and the tense moment was soon forgotten as the boys relived some of their favorite bits of the game, like when Malfoy flew right into a Bludger, which hit him in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him, and nearly made him fall off his broom.  
_

* * *

What a wonderful night,_ Harry thought dreamily, pulling his own bruised lips from Tom's to catch his breath. Tom was being unusually calm and occasionally eager this evening, reciprocating Harry's efforts equally and even holding him closer for a few brief, heated moments.

Tom was breathing heavily, and there was a dark, wanting look in his eyes that Harry hadn't ever seen before on anyone, and it made his underwear – he wasn't wearing anything else – become tighter. Still staring breathlessly into those eyes, he unthinkingly reached his hand down to himself.

Tom's expression changed lightning fast to panicky and pale. He darted out his hand and pulled Harry's wrist up. Blinking, Harry realized what he had been doing.

'What are you playing at?' Tom hissed, sounding both angry and fearful. 'Do you want to go blind?'

There had been times – many times – when Harry had held back his laughter at Tom's 1940s naiveté, but this was far past anything Harry could have hoped to keep to himself. He began to laugh, trying so hard to keep quiet that it was hurting his chest. He fell back onto the bed, curled up and stifled his laughter with a pillow.

When he had regained enough control to stop about a minute or so later and looked up, Harry knew he was one wrong word or a giggle away from being transfigured into Yorkshire pudding, so furious was the snarling face looking back at him. 'Tom, you-you can't… it's not…'

Harry felt the corners of his lips curling dangerously again, and only pure fear of what Tom might do – what Harry was shocked Tom hadn't done already – if he put one more toe out of line kept him from cracking. 'Touching yourself… _down there_… won't make you go blind.'

'Of course it will,' Tom scoffed. 'That's why people get_ married_.' He said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if people got married so they wouldn't go blind.

_Please, Merlin, I don't want to be Yorkshire pudding_, Harry begged himself, trying once more to keep from laughing in Tom's face. 'That's not true, Tom,' Harry said evenly. 'It won't make you go blind. If it did, every boy above third year at Hogwarts would need a walking stick.'

This time Harry did laugh, but only a little, and Tom seemed too intent on absorbing his meaning to notice. 'You… you _all_ do that? A lot?'

Harry stopped laughing, or even smiling. He hadn't thought, even when he was laughing, that Tom could _seriously_ think he'd lose his eyesight if he… _oh no._ 'Yes, we do. It's perfectly natural. It's _normal_, Tom. Everyone does it.'

'Oh,' Tom replied softly. 'Is there some new spell someone came up with –'

'No,' Harry cut in firmly. 'That's just a lot of bollocks. It always was. You _have_…?' Harry whispered hopefully.

'_Of course I have_,' Tom snapped. '_Everybody_ has tried it once, I'm not _that_ daft. I thought it must cause degeneration over time, so I've always tried not to do it too often.'

Harry felt enormously relieved. Then he smirked, looking at Tom in what he hoped was a sexy way. 'I find the thought of you touching yourself arousing,' he said in a low voice.

'Bully for you,' Tom grumbled, crawling under the covers. '_Goodnight_.'

'Fine, fine, I'm leaving.'

* * *

'Tom?' Harry whispered. It was late November, and they were lying in bed together, as they often did lately after kissing. Harry was rubbing Tom's shoulders and back from behind; he considered this to be his greatest accomplishment of the year. The fact that Tom would turn his back on him was impressive in and of itself, and the touching was a very satisfying added bonus. Tom was breathing softly, nervous but relaxing gradually. 

'Yes?'

Harry forced himself to continue; he knew that he was probably jeopardizing the back rub by bringing this up again, but this question was more important. 'What are your nightmares about?'

He felt Tom freeze under his hands and pulled them away. 'Why do you have to keep asking me that?' His voice was that mixture of annoyance and desperation – mostly desperation – that Harry knew so well from discussing this topic before.

'It's important to me to know, that's all.'

'_Why_?'

Harry tried a different answer to this question each time. Each one of them – _I want to help you, I don't like seeing you frightened, I care about you, _and _Just tell me already, you prat_ – were an expression of some facet of his feelings, but none of them had convinced Tom to tell him yet. He couldn't come up with anything new that night, so he went with the one that had gotten him the best results so far. 'Just tell me already, you prat.'

Harry didn't know if he'd ever understand why this answer made Tom merely huff, while the others made him spit and sneer and growl to varying degrees. _No, that's not true_, he sighed to himself; he _did _know why Tom minded this answer the least. _The others annoy him because he finds them condescending; he's more comfortable with insults than condescension. _Harry knew he should find having this much insight into a lunatic's mind frightening, but he was merely resigned to it.

* * *

'I don't feel comfortable talking about it,' Tom replied plainly, and it was true; the thought of them while awake made his gut wrench. He never thought about them at all during his waking hours unless Harry prodded him with questions. _And things have been going so well tonight, too_. 

'I know that,' Harry replied stubbornly. 'But maybe you would feel better after talking about them. I always used to feel better when I talked about my dreams about You-Know-Who. It's therapeutic.'  
_

* * *

That's a good line. I'll have to remember that one._

* * *

'Thanks, but I think I'll pass.' _It's not at all the same_, Tom thought. 'It's getting late. You should get to bed.' With that, Tom fled to the edge of his bed, curled up and stayed still.  
_

* * *

Damn._ 'I'm not going to stop bothering you about this,' Harry warned him as he left.

* * *

The beginnings of December were very cold, and Harry was not looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures outside that day. _Hopefully my night won't be as cold, _he thought precociously. Harry had found that his nights were becoming the center of his days; he wasn't getting nearly as much regular sleep as he had before his conversations with Tom had started, and there were nights when he just stilled Tom's nightmares and then went back to bed without them speaking because he was too tired, but he was getting used to the lack of sleep and, if worse came to worse, the occasional detentions for sleeping in class were well worth the nightly rewards. He did make sure not to fall asleep in any one class regularly, however; he didn't want the teachers thinking anything was wrong. He was still astounded that Dumbledore hadn't found out somehow, and he wasn't going to push his luck. 

He was wolfing down his third egg when the post owls arrived, very late by their usual standards because of the adverse wind. To Harry's amazement, one of them swooped over to him, holding a letter out on its leg. Intensely curious, he untied it and opened it immediately.

_Harry,_

_The boys, Ginny, Arthur and I intend to spend Christmas together this year (not at the Burrow). We would all love it if you could join us; you are family to us, and it would not be a family Christmas without you. Ron will send back an owl with your answer – _don't_ send one yourself!_

_Love,_

_Molly Weasley_

Harry frowned. If they weren't going to the Burrow, they must be spending Christmas at 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry wasn't too keen on that, but spending Christmas with the Weasleys did sound awfully tempting, and he had to admit that he was touched he was considered another member of the family.

'I already sent back that you're going,' Ron said, taking a seat next to Harry. Tom, for once, wasn't there; he had already left for Arithmancy with Hermione, and Harry had long ago decided it was pointless to escort him to class as long as Hermione was with him. Dumbledore hadn't scolded him for it yet, so Harry figured it was all right by him.

But he couldn't go away for Christmas; who would watch Tom? 'I can't go,' Harry replied frankly.

Ron looked flabbergasted. 'Why not? It's not because of the location?'

'No, I just can't leave Tom alone for Christmas.'

He frowned. 'Isn't Tom going home for Christmas? His parents seem pretty attached to him, considering all the mail he gets.'

'No,' Harry shook his head, 'his parents are in Australia right now.' _That was quick thinking worthy of Tom_, he thought wryly.

'Oh… couldn't he just come with us, then?'

Harry nearly spat out his juice. 'Tom? Come to you-know-where?'

'Why not? Mum wouldn't mind. In fact,' Ron wriggled his eyebrows and whispered, 'if I told her more _about _Tom, she would probably _insist_ that he come so she could make sure he's good enough for you.'

The thought of Mrs. Weasley and Tom in the same room together was strange enough to Harry without the added innuendo. 'Dumbledore won't want him to come. It's supposed to be a secret place, remember?'

'Why would Dumbledore care? Tom's trustworthy. Hermione and I will vouch for him.'

_If only you knew what you were vouching for._ 'I'm telling you, Dumbledore won't like it,' Harry insisted. 'We've only known him for a few months, Ron.' That thought was completely foreign to Harry's mind, even though he knew it was true; the past few months had felt, to Harry, like years.

'I see no problem,' said a cheerful voice from behind. He turned around and found himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore. 'I'm sure the time away from Hogwarts would do Mr. Maxwell good.'

Now it was Harry's turn to be flabbergasted. '_What_?' he gaped. '_Why?_' Ron gave Harry a curious look, so he elaborated on his discomfort. 'It's not that I don't trust Tom,' he said quietly, 'but isn't it safer – for him, I mean – if he doesn't go?'

'Do not concern yourself,' Dumbledore smiled. 'Mr. Maxwell is safe at Hogwarts, and he will be safe where you are going. I see no apparent danger.'

Then Dumbledore looked sharply into Harry's eyes, and Harry looked back. He heard Dumbledore say, inside his head, _I believe a Christmas with the Weasleys would do you good, Harry, but I can't spare the resources here at Hogwarts to watch Tom properly while you're away. I have apprised Remus of the situation, and he will be at Grimmauld Place for the entirety of Christmas break to keep an eye on Tom while you take a well-deserved break. You will both be safe there. Enjoy yourself._

After that one long look was over Dumbledore gave Harry and Ron both a pat on the shoulder and walked back to the high table. 'See, Harry?' Ron grinned. 'No problem.'

* * *

'We're going _where?_' Tom asked at lunch. 

'We can't say in public,' Hermione whispered – she was invited, as well. 'They'll probably give you a piece of paper with the name on it when you get there, like they did for us. Dumbledore has to write it, he's the Secret Keeper.'

That made sense; what _didn't_ make sense is why he was going.

* * *

'Because Dumbledore wants me to spend Christmas with the Weasleys and he can't spend two weeks following you around,' Harry explained in bed that night. 

_How wonderful_, Tom thought sarcastically, _I get to tag along to watch a very Gryffindor Christmas._

Harry seemed to pick up on Tom's thoughts, as he often did lately. 'Don't look so put out; it won't be so bad. I'll be there, and you won't have any trouble charming Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.'

_How comforting._ 'But you said that werewolf fellow is supposed to baby-sit me,' Tom said dubiously. _Maybe there's a full moon, though – maybe I'll get to watch a werewolf transformation,_ he thought eagerly.

'Yes, well, that might be a problem,' Harry admitted, 'but you know I won't abandon you and sod off like Dumbledore expects. It _will_ work out, I promise. Trust me.'

Tom snorted.

'Fine, don't trust me. You're coming anyway, and that's that.'

* * *

The weekend before their planned trip to… somewhere… was to be a Hogsmeade weekend. Everyone around Tom was talking about what they were going to do during Christmas break – 'sleep for a week' was a popular option – or they were dreading end-of-term tests, _or_, in flightier moments, gleefully discussing what they intended to buy in Hogsmeade for Christmas presents. The latter, 'flighty' subject was of concern to Tom more than any of the others. For the first time in his life, he was in possession of pocket money and someone to buy a gift for, and the stress of it made him wish to be rid of one or both. The problem was simple: Harry had everything. Well, not _everything_; he didn't have any decent books on the Dark Arts, that was sure, but that would be more a gift for Tom himself than for Harry, and was unlikely to be well received. 

Tom analyzed the issue clinically: Harry only had two serious interests, those being Quidditch and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Tom would throw himself into boiling oil before purchasing anything as worthless as Quidditch supplies, and Harry already had an excellent broom and a servicing kit, anyway, so that left Defense.

There was another problem: getting away from Harry to purchase the gift. It was one thing for Harry to let Tom walk to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with Hermione, but quite another to let him roam Hogsmeade unattended. He didn't know how he would get around that problem, and was still working on various ways to distract or keep Harry occupied when the answer presented itself in a neatly wrapped package the night before Hogsmeade.

* * *

'Tom,' Harry began, taking a deep breath. _I can't believe I'm actually suggesting this. _'What do you say we, uh, take a break from each other for a while in Hogsmeade? You could walk around with Ginny –' 

'No way,' Tom said flatly. 'I can't stand her.'

'The feeling is mutual,' Harry smirked, hiding his disappointment. _Then how am I going to buy your Christmas present, idiot?_ There was nothing for it; he would have preferred to leave Tom with someone who _knew_ to watch him carefully, but if that failed… 'Why don't you walk around a little with Ron and Hermione then, and we'll meet in the Three Broomsticks later on in the day?' _Merlin knows I'll need the time; I still don't know what I'm buying._ No matter how hard Harry concentrated, he couldn't think of anything Tom would want that wouldn't be illegal, dangerous, or both. He couldn't explain to himself _why_ he wanted to get Tom a good present, except that he suspected Tom might never have received even a tissue for Christmas before (the Dursleys gave Harry that much, at least) and he wanted his first present to be… nice.

* * *

'If you want,' Tom replied, trying with all his might to sound indifferent. _Perfect._

* * *

Tom couldn't believe Harry had thought Ron and Hermione would make satisfactory guardians; he could tell, within five minutes of observation at breakfast, that their dilemma was (disturbingly) similar to his own, and separating them would take no great effort. When Harry left, making Ron and Hermione promise to _both_ watch him closely, to 'not to let him leave your sight,' the couple stood awkwardly at the beginning of the main street, each trying, he knew, to think of a way to pawn Tom off on the other. 

'Listen,' Tom said, trying to sound as desperate as he knew they felt, 'I know Harry told you not to leave me alone, but I have something I need to take care of. See, Harry thinks I'll get lost because it's only my second time in Hogsmeade –'

He didn't even need to finish his sentence. 'Of course,' Hermione smiled, looking immensely relieved. 'We understand, don't we, Ron?'

'Definitely,' Ron nodded, with all too much sympathy in his voice.

'Thanks,' Tom breathed, 'you two are real friends.' _Yeah, right._ 'I'll meet you in the Three Broomsticks later. I'm sure Harry won't really mind as long as I come back in one piece.'

'Right, sure,' Ron nodded, looking off in the distance toward Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

'Good luck,' Hermione added, glancing sideways down the lane to Gladrag's Wizardwear.

And just like that, Tom was free.

* * *

A few minutes later, Tom was feeling much less jubilant. He made a beeline for the only shop in Hogsmeade that would carry Defensive instruments, Dervish and Banges, but when he entered the store, the walls and cabinets that were usually stocked with defensive magical devices were bare. 

'Sorry,' said the man behind the counter, a reedy, tall fellow, 'but we're out of all defensive equipment. I can get you a deal on Quidditch figurines, though.'

At the look of disbelief on Tom's face, he added in a meaningful whisper, 'What with _You-Know-Who_ and all, it's been good business.'

Tom's stomach sunk. What would he do now? None of the other shops in Hogsmeade carried anything more significant than a Sneakoscope, and Harry already had one of those. Besides, that wasn't… _good_ enough. 'Is there anywhere I could go to find… '

It was only then that Tom realized what it was he wanted to get Harry. He had read about them ages ago, and they sounded dead useful; Harry had even described how the fake Mad-Eye Moody who had taught him in his fourth year had used one to spot enemies coming.

'Is there anywhere I could get a foe glass, or something along those lines?'

'A _foe glass_?' the man behind the counter said, taken aback. 'That's a bit extreme. We wouldn't carry one of those in the best of times. Makes a fellow a bit paranoid, if y'ask me.'

_But I'm not, am I?_ 'Please, sir, do you have any idea…? It's very important.'

'Not in Hogsmeade,' the man shook his head. 'In Diagon Alley, maybe.'

'I see… well, thanks anyway.'

'Merry Christmas!' the man called after him as he left.

Five minutes later, Tom was standing in front of the Hogsmeade Floo Network.

* * *

It was very busy inside; a half-dozen fires were burning brightly, three flooing people out and three flooing them in. Tom went to stand in line behind one of the fires marked 'Out,' and waited for his turn. 

_Can I get away with this?_ Tom considered. He hadn't been gone very long; Harry wouldn't be expecting him in the Three Broomsticks for at least another hour, and if he were just a _bit_ late, he should be able to explain it away. Diagon Alley held more than one allure; after all, if he had some extra time after purchasing Harry's present, what reason was there to not look around for some other items Tom wanted to get his hands on?_ Why, none at all_, Tom thought with a smirk.

After an agonizingly hot wait, he found himself held up by the Ministry witch manning the fireplace. 'Just a moment, lad… have to check you're of age…' she said sternly.

The problem was that Tom was _not_ of age, but before he could desperately explain that he had just been told his mother collapsed in Diagon Alley, and he had to go to her (it was an emergency, surely she could make an exception), the witch said, 'Aetatis!' and a green light shone like an aura around him.

_Green? It shouldn't be green,_ he thought distractedly. But it was, and as the spell effect faded the Ministry witch was ushering him to the fireplace, spilling a small bit of Floo Powder into his hand.

Not one to question such a satisfying result, Tom threw the Floo Powder from his sweaty hand into the fire, stepped in and cried 'Diagon Alley!'**

* * *

CelticCross83: **Tom was not abused, but there is a reason he does not like to be touched, and it has to do with his dreams. Aside from that, though, it's just temperament; Tom was more adversely affected by the lack of affection than Harry.

**Yana5: **I don't really go in for the dominant/submissive thing; at this stage, Tom just happens to be shyer than Harry, so Harry has to take the initiative to move things forward, but that's not to say Tom will be entirely submissive. I believe in equal individuals and equal relationships, especially between two such strong personalities.


	23. Lestrange Twist of Fate

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom runs into some nasties.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M.  
**Author's Note:** I got a really nasty spider bite the other day that made my hand blow up like a balloon, so I couldn't type :( It's better today, though, and the chapter is nice and long. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. Tom was going to find out about his true self in this chapter, but things came up and it didn't work out. Don't worry, he'll find out next chapter _for sure_. Oh, and some real, **_serious slash _**is upcoming in the next chapter, too, which I've also been putting off for several chapters. As a side note, the United Kingdom didn't adopt the metric system until 1965, which means Lord Voldemort probably thinks in feet… yeah, you _know_ you care. Crazy 1940s. **Note: For those of you who read this before I changed the summary... uh, sorry. Battle scene with Lestranges has also been slightly altered, and one extra review reply has been added.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Lestrange Twist of Fate**

Tom came out at the grate near Gringotts, coughing and a little dirty. _I hate traveling by Floo Powder… I should have risked Apparition._ He'd never been able to practice Apparating before, though, because of the Restrictions on Underage Wizardry and the fact that it was impossible to Apparate within Hogwarts grounds; besides, he didn't much fancy being splinched.

The streets were more crowded than Tom had ever seen them, filled with Christmas shoppers. Tom walked past Gringotts to Beezlebub's Defense Dohickeys, sure that if any shop would stock a Foe Glass, it would be the one. As he approached, however, he saw over the shoulders of other shoppers that the sign read, not 'Beezlebub's Defense Dohickeys,' but 'Madame Volokh's Second-Hand Robes.' Beezlebub's, it seemed, had either moved or gone out of business.

Tom tugged on the sleeve of a wizard passing by to get his attention. The white-haired man turned to him. 'Excuse me,' Tom asked, smiling, 'but would you happen to know where there's a shop that sells defensive magical items here?'

The man turned a kindly smile on him. 'Sorry, lad, but the Dervish and Banges outlet by the apothecary is cleaned out. Those items are very popular this year,' he said sadly. Then he was gone, and Tom was left standing by the entrance to Madame Volokh's, wondering what he could do next.

He had to locate a shop that sold defensive artifacts – one that would not be sold out. In short, it must be a shop people did not normally frequent. It had to be close, and it had to be disreputable. _Disreputable and close mean Knockturn Alley._

Even Tom would not walk blithely into Knockturn Alley without a second thought. It was a place where one could go permanently missing if one got unlucky. The best way to approach a journey into Knockturn was to look as menacing as possible, and he knew his youth did him no favors in that department.

He looped back around in the crowd with some difficulty, eventually reaching the front of Gringotts again. Then, throwing the hood of his cloak over his head and bumping anyone aside who stood in his way (to show he was not afraid of doing so), he swept confidently into the alley, his face hidden and his wand tucked away in his cloak within easy reach (he did not brandish it openly; that would make him appear too threatening, and he did not desire to provoke any big fish today).

Tom glanced out of his cloak several times to look at what the shops were selling; Knockturn hadn't changed much since his day, but there were still a couple missing shops, and an equal number of new ones. The street was not nearly as packed as Diagon had been, though there were enough people that he managed to avoid being cornered by a peddler. He didn't find anything likely to satisfy his needs, however, until he came to Borgin & Burkes.

Borgin & Burkes, unless it had changed since his time, was a shop devoted primarily to Dark objects, not defensive ones. However, a Dark wizard appreciated a Foe Glass just as much as an Auror would, so Tom supposed there was a chance he would find what he was looking for there. He looked through the glass, and saw no one inside. _This place,_ Tom supposed, _doesn't get much business in daylight._

A bell clanged as he stepped into the shop. He took a moment to look around, not terribly impressed with what he saw. The artifacts in the shop were, indeed, objects of the Darkest variety, but Tom thought that _buying_ Dark artifacts was cheating in most cases; he preferred to construct his own. Only talentless wizards without the power or creativity to delve into the Dark Arts fully on their own would purchase them, in Tom's opinion.

Not long after he entered the shop, a slouched, greasy-looking man appeared at the counter; Tom did not see how he had gotten there. 'May I help you, good sir? I have many objects here that I am sure would be of interest to a man such as yourself.'

_Good, he's showing some respect._ 'I was wondering if you might have a specific artifact I've been looking for – a Foe Glass,' Tom said in a deeper, slower voice than normal, trying to sound both dangerous and unconcerned. 'I am aware that such an object is not as – intriguing – as the general fare in this… establishment.' Here he sounded sneering, as though unimpressed by what he saw, which was not hard to pull off, since it was true; no decent Dark wizard would be, and that's exactly what he wanted the shop owner to think – to realize – that he was.

The man reacted exactly as Tom had hoped. His sleazy respect turned to oily cowardice as he walked over, half bowing, and led Tom to the back of his shop.

'Now this, my Lord,' he began – Tom thought the 'Lord' bit was laying it on too thick, not that he minded – 'is a Foe Glass.' He indicated an object which Tom thought was a watch at first – not a pocket watch from his time, but one with a wrist strap like the kind Harry wore – before the shopkeeper pulled on the knob on the side, which would usually set the time, and the clock face became a small mirror. Tom saw several shadows in the mirror, but no more than that. 'It is smaller than what one generally sees,' the man said proudly, 'so it can be taken anywhere.'

'Furthermore, if you turn this knob here,' – and here he turned the knob, making the mirror extend and the straps bend into a mirror large enough to place on a desk – 'you can place it somewhere in a room and glance at it whenever you like.'

'And if you find it necessary to disguise it, you can pull the knob out and back in twice,' – he demonstrated again – 'and, as you see, it transforms into a normal watch, and no one is any the wiser. It even tells the time correctly.'

'That will be satisfactory,' Tom said snobbishly. _Awesome._

* * *

Tom had haggled for several minutes before reaching a price of 38 galleons, 3 sickles, and 2 knuts, which happened to be the entirety of the funds Tom had left from the 40 galleons Dumbledore had given him. He was glad he hadn't bought more candy at Honeydukes in October. He knew the watch was more expensive than a traditional Foe Glass would have been because of the extra features, and because the man – Mr. Borgin, he learned – was not a particularly honest businessman, though he was too scared by Tom's demeanor to be overtly dishonest. 

With the watch concealed in a jewelry box and secured in a deep pocket inside his robe, he set off to depart Knockturn Alley. Tom sighed as he noticed the time; he still had the _time_ to go to the bookshop and buy himself a few 'necessities,' but not the galleons. _I may not get another chance to do any private shopping for a while,_ he considered with concern.

The answer presented itself upon his exit from Knockturn; he was, again, in front of the entrance to Gringotts. He needed money and, he had to admit, he was extremely curious. Certainly, he had been on the run for ages in this time, but goblins weren't concerned with niggling details like the respectability of their clients. He could have left himself a bit of money – and, if he was hiding from Dumbledore, You-Know-Who, the Ministry, and the vampires, his present self wouldn't notice a few galleons missing any time soon. Decided, he threw off his hood and walked into the bank.  
_

* * *

I'll never find a decent gift,_ Harry sighed. _He's just too hard to shop for._ The only definite interest Tom had was the Dark Arts, and Harry had no intention of encouraging him in _that_. _Besides, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't be too amused if I bought him Dark materials. It would defeat the purpose of keeping him out of the Restricted Section, wouldn't it?_ He had already found presents for Ron and Hermione, but he wanted desperately to find something Tom would really, truly like – and which the Headmaster wouldn't confiscate if he found it.

He was certain he had gone through every shop in Hogsmeade. There were candies, and jokes, and quills, and clothes, but Tom wouldn't want any of that. Harry was surprised to realize, when he considered the matter as he shopped, that Tom lived a Spartan lifestyle. He didn't desire luxury: he wanted power and respect. He wouldn't know what to do with a deluxe phoenix feather quill or dragonhide boots. He would want something useful, and Harry was drawing a blank.

He wandered into Gladrag's Wizardwear again, not thinking to find anything better the third time than he had the previous two, when he encountered Hermione looking through the cloaks section. He would have missed her if he hadn't seen her bushy hair sticking out of the display she was rummaging through. 'Hermione?'

Hermione started, as if burned, and turned around. 'Harry?'

'Where's Tom?' he asked, looking around the store. _Maybe I could just _ask _him what he wants._

Hermione, however, bit her lip. 'He's not here, Harry. He's… he's with Ron!' she added quickly upon observing the horrified look on his face.

'You left him with _Ron?_' Harry gaped. Tom would have no trouble whatsoever ditching Ron.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. 'No, I was just making that up so you wouldn't be so upset. You see, Ron and I had some shopping to do, and Tom didn't seem to want to stay with us, and he said he knew his way around, so we didn't see the harm in letting him wander off.'

'You didn't see the _harm?_' Harry yelled, shocking several of the customers nearby. 'I need to leave,' he said curtly, 'I need to find him.'

'Harry,' she began.

'Don't talk to me, Hermione,' he cut in, turning away angrily. He knew it wasn't fair to be angry with her – Hermione didn't know how dangerous Tom could be – but he was too scared to be reasonable. Tom could be anywhere; Harry had been walking around Hogsmeade for ages and he hadn't seen him. What if someone had abducted him?

Harry raced around the main street of Hogsmeade looking for Tom. He didn't find him in the Three Broomsticks, or Dervish and Banges, or Madame Puddifoot's (not that he had expected to find him there, but it was worth a try) or any other shop. Eventually, the only place Harry hadn't looked yet was the Hog's Head, so he went down the small side street leading there.

He wasn't halfway to the Hog's Head when a strong, gnarled hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

* * *

'I don't have my vault key,' Tom stated plainly. 

'Blood sample,' the goblin said gruffly. 'Hold out your hand.' Tom did so, and the goblin took hold of it. With its other hand, it took what appeared to be a very sharp quill out of its pocket and poked it into Tom's finger. He watched as the slim white shaft of the quill filled with red blood.

'Vault number?' it asked as it tucked the quill back into its pocket.

'Six hundred sixteen,' Tom stated.

The goblin started, jumping a half-foot into the air. It looked at Tom in an entirely different way; its eyes bulged and its nose quivered. 'You _sure_, boy?' it whispered deeply.

'Yes,' he replied shortly. _A nervous goblin, questioning a customer?_

'This blood of yours… it will open the vault?' it asked, peering into Tom's eyes with nervousness and curiosity.

'It ought to, as it's _my _vault,' he growled.

The goblin was cowed by this response. 'Very well… Hookjaw!'

Another goblin ambled over. The goblin who was serving Tom began whispering to it insistently in its own language; before long, Hookjaw was looking up at Tom with both shock and fear. Hookjaw hissed some response, and the other goblin left, handing Hookjaw the blood-filled quill.

'This way, sir,' Hookjaw said, leading him down the hall. He opened a door at the end of the hallway.

'This isn't the way,' Tom said in surprise. He had always entered a door about halfway down the hall before, not one at the very end.

'It is, sir,' the goblin replied, its voice grating. It held the door open and the two of them climbed into a cart.

They were off, plummeting deep into the earth, swerving frantically left and right. Tom _knew_ this wasn't where his vault had been before. When the cart leveled out, they began flying down a long underground tunnel, about a hundred feet wide – _none_ of the tunnels Tom had ever been through in Gringotts were so wide. He soon saw why it was so; pacing across the tunnel, blowing a short stream of fire at them through its nose as they approached, was a dragon.

'Uh, excuse me, but I'm not sure that we've gone the right way,' Tom said tentatively. He had heard rumors of dragons in Gringotts, but he had never _seen_ one before.

'It's the right way, sir,' the goblin replied, as their cart came to a halt ten feet away from the dragon. The goblin had its right hand in the air, and seemed to be giving signals to the dragon. It looked at first as if it wasn't going to obey them; finally, however, the dragon let out a fireless howl and stomped away.

'Here,' the goblin said, hopping out of the cart and walking toward a vault on the other side of the room. Even from so far off, Tom could see the giant doors of the vault, and a massive number '616' inscribed on a gold plaque above it.

Tom caught up with the goblin as they reached the door. It didn't appear to have a keyhole. The goblin stroked the wall of the vault with one long finger and then handed Tom the quill. 'Write your name,' it said, its voice sounding shaky, as if it wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Tom took the quill and, standing in front of the vault door, wrote 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' in spidery handwriting. The blood was absorbed into the door in a way that reminded Tom very much of ink being drawn into his diary. The door did not budge; in fact, there seemed to be something menacing about it now, as though it was angry with him. The name became visible again on the door, as if the door had spat it out, and the blood trickled unnaturally quickly onto the floor.

The goblin looked truly panicked now. 'Try again, try again, or we will leave!' it cried.

Tom frowned at the door. If it was his vault, why wouldn't it open? What if six hundred sixteen wasn't his vault number anymore? Would the dragon come back if he got it wrong again? _Think, Tom, think._

And then the answer came to him. Of course it wouldn't be under Tom Marvolo Riddle anymore. Smirking, Tom held up the quill and scrawled 'Lord Voldemort' onto the door. The goblin behind him was shaking so hard that its knees were clapping together as it watched.

The door absorbed the blood again, but this time it did not reappear. He felt as if the door was peering into him, questioning him, but then, seemingly reluctantly, the doors opened inwards, revealing so fierce a glare within that Tom had to shut his eyes against it. After a few moments he walked in, blinking furiously in pain and shock.

The vault he had just entered was a stone chamber, about twenty feet high and twice as long. In it were stacked, wall to wall and floor to ceiling, tower after tower of gold galleons, gleaming so brightly in the room, lit by about two dozen brilliantly burning torches, that Tom's eyes burned at the sight. He had never seen so much gold – he had never seen a _tenth_ so much gold – in his life. He hadn't dreamed that there could be so much gold in the world.

He stood in awe of it for a few moments before collecting himself. How could he have gotten hold of so much? _Vampire hunting must be a very lucrative profession_, he grinned.

Now, how was he going to take, say, 100 galleons without the entire mass falling on him?

'Just say how much you want,' the goblin behind him quivered, as if reading his mind.

'About 100 galleons should do,' he said. Just like that, one of the towers of gold began to move, and a hundred gold coins flew from the top, into Tom's money bag. 'Nice service,' he grinned. He could have sworn that the gold towers winked at him in reply.

He walked out of the bank feeling very satisfied. He had enough to easily pay Dumbledore back for his robes, books and pocket money – he hated being indebted to anyone, least of all Dumbledore – and buy some extra books for himself, besides. Happy with his monetary situation, he strolled in the direction of Flourish & Blotts.

* * *

'I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that, boy!' Moody scolded. 

'Sorry,' Harry said, embarrassed. 'I'm a little distracted.'

'I can see that,' Moody growled, not sounding at all appeased by Harry's answer. 'What are you thinking, heading off on your own to the Hog's Head? Rough crowd in there, Potter. Not your type.'

'I'm looking for Tom! He's gone! I left him with Ron and Hermione –'

'So I saw,' replied Moody dryly.

Harry started. 'You… you've been following me?'

'Of course! You didn't think Dumbledore would have you wandering around Hogsmeade without protection? And we've got an Auror on your _friend_,' Moody spat, 'so don't you mind about him.'

'You know about –?'

'Dumbledore told me,' Moody said gruffly. 'Didn't want many people to know, but since I was to be watching him today –'

'But you're not watching him! You're watching me!' Harry protested.

'I sent for backup when you two split. Tonks has been watching him. She was the only one available on such short notice – has the day off work today.' Moody didn't sound too happy.

'So Tonks is watching Tom, and you're watching me?'

Moody nodded. 'Come on, I'll escort you back to a safer area.'

Just as they were turning into the main street, a woman ran down toward them, gasping for breath. It was Tonks, and Tom was not with her. 'Moody,' she gasped, clutching her side. 'Moody, I lost him!'

* * *

Tom walked happily away from Flourish & Blotts with many new books weighing down his backpack. He had been in such a good mood, in fact, that he had even bought books for Harry's irritating little friends – after all, he still had appearances to keep up. For Hermione, 'The History and Habits of the House Elf,' a book he knew wasn't in the Hogwarts library because she had already told him everything she knew about house elves and where she had learned it (certainly without _his_ encouragement). For Ron, though he wasn't entirely sure the dunce could even read, he purchased 'The Chudley Cannons Compendium, 1895-1995.' _Let it not be said that Tom Riddle – or Tom Maxwell – does not know his enemies. _He even got a Herbology book for Neville; he knew no one else would bother getting him anything – he was the very _definition _of 'odd one out' – and remembering him at Christmas would gain Tom some further loyalty which he could use to his advantage in the future. 

He had also bought several books for himself. Thanks to his new ability to fool the Age Check Charm, he managed to slip into the Restricted Section of the bookstore, from which he purchased 'One Hundred and One Spells They Don't Want You to Know,' 'Mistakes a Dark Wizard Shouldn't Make,' 'Ten Most Dangerous Dark Wizards in History,' and 'Extremely Advanced Curses: Learn to Create Your Own off the Top of Your Head.'

Tom checked the time; there was no way that Harry would not have noticed him missing by now. He had stayed far too long in the bookstore. Sighing, and already mentally running through possible excuses, he hardly noticed the shrieking coming from behind him until several people ran into him.

Snapped out of his thoughts, he was about to hex the lot that had run into him when his attention was drawn by screams even louder than before coming from behind him, and more people pushing through a now panicked crowd.

He stopped and tried to see above the heads of the crowd pushing past him for some indication of the cause, but he couldn't see far enough. Then a man supporting an apparently injured woman and carrying a sobbing child in one arm began bowling into the crowd in Tom's general direction. This disturbed the already frightened throng more than before, and they began moving faster and more purposefully away from whatever was causing the screaming, making it hard for Tom to stay stationary among them.

Tom quickly determined that there were only two ways he was going to figure out what was causing the trouble: move against the crowd right into it (not smart, in Tom's opinion) or ask the man with the woman and child. He managed, with a great deal of pushing that earned him not a few bruises, to reach them.

'What's going on?' he demanded.

The man, panting heavily, looked sharply at Tom. His black eyes roamed from Tom's face down to the Gryffindor badge on his robes, which drew the man's attention immediately back to Tom's face. 'Hogwarts? Can you help us?' he asked quickly, glancing quickly behind at the crowds who were threatening to trample them both.

:Viktor: the woman said shakily in Russian. Tom had taught himself French, German, Russian and Spanish over the course of his long, often boring years at Hogwarts.

:You are Russian: Tom asked. Both the man and woman looked sharply up; the child continued to cry.

:Here: the man, Viktor, thrust the child into Tom's chest, knocking the wind out of him. :Take him to Hogwarts, please! He does not speak English:

:What:

It was too late. The man was moving along with the woman faster than he had before with the child weighing him down. Tom looked down at the screaming boy in his arms. It looked no older than four.

:Mamma! Mamma: It cried up at him.

:Don't look at me: He snapped. :I'm not taking you anywhere: As he was trying to shake the brat off him (it had turned around and grabbed hold, and wouldn't let go), Tom heard a voice cry out 'Crucio!'

Tom was on the ground in an instant, screaming. The child was pried off him, but he hardly noticed; the pain was too great. It was intense, burning agony. It seemed to be going on and on for an eternity.

And then (how long it was, Tom couldn't say) it was over. Even before the pain had cleared enough for him to stop choking on it, he was inconceivably, incomparably enraged. _No one hexes me!_ The crowd around him had thinned; most were far away from the scene now. Those who were not – and there were about a dozen of them – were lying motionless on the ground, perhaps dead, perhaps not. Tom could see, through his hate and pain-filled eyes, three cloaked figures with their backs turned to him. Still twitching from Cruciatus, he stood up and pointed his wand at the figure in the middle, the one holding the child, which was now screaming louder than ever.

'CRUCIO!' Tom yelled at the top of his lungs.

* * *

'How could you lose him?' Moody hissed angrily. 

'I didn't mean to!' she replied. 'I lost him in the crowd outside Dervish and Banges! I looked for him _everywhere_ but I couldn't find him!'

'Why didn't you have a Tracking Spell on him?'

'I tried!' she cried. 'It didn't stick!'

'He must have been using an Obscuring Charm! Why didn't you hit him with the counter-charm?' Moody demanded as the three of them walked in the direction of Dervish and Banges, where Tom had last been spotted.

'No sixth year would know how to cast an Obscuring Charm, that's from Auror training!' she countered. 'I must have been casting the Tracking Spell incorrectly! You know how I've had trouble with them before.'

'You know how to cast a Tracking Spell, Tonks. I took three weeks to pound it into your skull,' Moody growled. 'And they call it _retirement_! Hah!' Moody and Harry both knew that Tom could definitely cast an Obscuring Charm if he wanted to. _The paranoid git probably casts one regularly,_ Harry thought grimly.

They reached Dervish and Banges. 'Right, now, which way did he go from here?' Moody demanded.

'He went –'

'HELP! HELP!' someone cried. All three heads turned toward the Hogsmeade Floo Network, where a woman had come out screaming and shaking. Several other people ran out shouting, 'Death Eaters! Death Eaters in Diagon Alley!' and Harry, Moody and Tonks, along with everyone else in the street, headed quickly in the direction of the shouts.

'Stay here, Potter!' Moody growled as they reached the outer fringes of the gathering crowd. He was going to protest, but Tonks grabbed his arm and shook her head, and Moody hobbled through, cutting a swathe through the gathered throng.

A minute later, he had come back out to them. 'Tonks, you go up to the castle and inform Dumbledore that Death Eaters have attacked Diagon Alley. The Ministry is sending Aurors there. I'm staying here with Potter.'

'Now wait just a minute!' Harry blustered. 'What about Tom?'

'One thing at a time,' Moody growled. 'I need to stay here to help any injured people coming through this grate. _Tom_,' he spat when mentioning him again, 'will have to wait.'

* * *

Female shrieks filled the air, and the other Death Eaters turned around in surprise. Before they could gather their wits, Tom shouted, 'Accio child!' and the boy flew toward him as if he were a magnet for annoying, crying children. He didn't care about the brat, but anything that these bastards wanted was what Tom intended to take. 

The men on either side of the screeching woman yelled 'Avada Kedavra!' Tom ducked the first and rolled away from the second with the wailing brat in one arm, his other hand still focusing his wand on the woman, who continued screaming. He knew he couldn't dodge another blow; holding the boy with over a half dozen books crammed into his backpack made his movements too ungainly, and he wouldn't have time to kill them both before one of them shot at him again. Thus, he pointed his wand at the ground.

Tom's eyes flickered red. 'Difflare!'

The street erupted as if explosives had just been set off under it. The two standing men were knocked off their feet; the woman was dazed by the combination of Cruciatus and the ground exploding underneath her. Tom flew to his feet and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could, wondering if the brat ever stopped screaming to breathe.

* * *

Harry and Moody were in the thick of things in Hogsmeade; there were many more people coming through the grate. Most of them were physically fine, but very frightened. A few others were injured, but not badly; Moody's rough knowledge of healing had been enough to fix most of them, though two were being sent on to St. Mungo's for extra minor treatment. 

Harry was watching for people coming through and saw, to his amazement, Viktor Krum.

'Krum!' he cried.

Krum looked dazed; he was definitely injured, as was the woman he was carrying in his arms. 'Harry?' he said, bewildered. 'Vot is all this?' He looked around at the entranced crowd, who were tittering even more loudly at Krum's presence.

Moody strode up to Krum, his wooden leg clunking on the ground, and guided him over to where the other injured were being looked after. Harry followed and sat down next to him as Moody took the woman and looked at her leg, shaking his head.

'What happened to you?' Harry asked.

'I vos taking this voman and her child –'

'Where's the child?' Moody interrupted harshly.

'I don't know,' Krum said, his head in his hands. 'I handed him off to someone in Diagon Alley. I could not carry them both.' Then, as if remembering, he said slowly, 'He vos a Hogwarts student. I saw his badge. He could speak Russian.'

'A Hogwarts student?' Harry said. 'Did he… did he have dark hair, green eyes, like me? Did he have a Gryffindor crest?' he asked, pointing to his own.

'Yes… yes,' Krum mumbled.

Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes. The rest of the world muted. Tom had left Hogwarts. Tom had escaped. Harry had thought… he shook his head and took an unsteady breath. 'Manipulative bastard,' he murmured softly. And now, Tom was in danger, and Harry didn't know if he was more angry at Tom for leaving or afraid for his safety. _Stupid,_ Harry scolded himself. _It was all just an act. He was playing me for a fool all along, and I'm _still_ worried about him!_

'Harry,' Krum said tentatively, 'are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' Harry lied. 'I'm just fine.'

* * *

Tom continued running along the street until he encountered a line of Aurors moving steadily toward him. They approached him with their wands raised. 

'You!' one Auror shouted. 'What are you doing here? Where are the Death Eaters?'

'I was just shopping!' Tom said defensively. 'I didn't do anything, it was those people down the street!' He pointed to where he had encountered the three cloaked figures.

Another Auror stepped up. 'You're shaking,' he said kindly. Tom could barely hear him over the child's wails. 'Are you all right?'

:Quiet: Tom said to the child. To his surprise, it shut up.

The second Auror came closer and asked, more insistently, 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' Tom said. 'I'm just shaken up.' The child, he realized, was concealing his Hogwarts crest from view. 'Could I get to a fireplace, please? I'd like to take the child home.'

'Are the Death Eaters still down there?' the first Auror hissed.

'_I _don't know!' Tom said angrily. The child was starting to whimper again. 'Please, I'd really like to just leave.'

'He doesn't know anything,' the second Auror said reproachfully to the first. 'Let's get you on your way,' he said softly to Tom, allowing him to pass through the line. As he walked off, Tom could faintly hear the second Auror say to the first, 'Honestly, holding up a young man with a petrified child, Williamson… '

_Hmm,_ Tom thought, _looks like the brat was useful, after all_. As though sensing his thoughts, the boy started to cry again, but Tom whispered to him in Russian until he stopped, and then continued on his way.

* * *

Harry, despite himself, despite cursing his own stupidity at believing for a moment that Tom wouldn't take off at the first opportunity, despite assuring himself over and over that Tom had never cared two straws about him, was standing at the very front of the crowd waiting at the Hogsmeade Floo Network. People were wandering out of their homes in a daze, claiming to have gotten home to their own fireplaces from Diagon Alley, and they were being questioned for any useful information they might have along with those arriving from the public grates. Tom, however, was nowhere to be seen. _And why would he come back?_ Harry asked himself bitterly. _He got away, didn't he?_ Ron and Hermione had arrived a short while before, and both were sitting with Krum while Harry stared intently at the door in front of him. 

A moment later, Tom stepped out of the Floo building, looking haggard and carrying a child. He saw Harry and, smiling – _Is it a real smile?_ Harry asked himself – strode over to him.

'Harry,' Tom said quickly. 'I need to find this boy's mother. He was foisted on me in Diagon Alley, and –'

'Matvey!' cried the woman who Krum had brought with him, sitting up while Moody was treating her leg. 'Matvey, Matvey!' The child was struggling out of Tom's arms, so he set him down and let him run off to his mother without a second glance.

'Well, that takes care of that,' he said carelessly.

'What were you doing in Diagon Alley?' Harry asked. Now that Tom was back, Harry found that anger was his predominant emotion.

'What does it matter?' Tom sighed. 'I came back, didn't I? You didn't think I intended to leave, surely? Where would I go?'

Harry blinked. He hadn't considered that bit. Tom didn't have anywhere to go but Hogwarts. 'I didn't know what to think,' he admitted. 'I thought you had left, but… I was waiting for you to come back.'

'And here I am,' he grinned, waving his arms ridiculously.

'That doesn't answer my question,' Harry said stubbornly.

Tom's nostrils flared in annoyance. 'You'll find out at Christmas, now stop being an arse and let's get back to the castle.'

He began to walk away, but stumbled on his own feet, and Harry caught him. 'Tom?' Harry cried frantically. 'Are you all right?'

'I… I don't know,' he said. He was leaning heavily on Harry, and seemed unable to get to his feet again.

'Come sit down over here,' Harry said insistently, dragging Tom slowly over to Moody.

'No…' he shook his head. 'No, I want to get back to Hogwarts.'

Ron and Hermione had reached them now, and Ron was helping Harry to hold Tom up. His feet were now dragging on the ground. Moody, who was done with the woman's leg for the moment, approached them.

He lifted Tom's eyelids up high with his thumbs, looking into his eyes intently, before pronouncing gruffly, 'Cruciatus. He must have been under it for a few minutes. I can't imagine how he managed to stand up afterwards, let alone get back here on his own two feet.' Moody sounded grudgingly impressed.

'No wonder they had their backs turned,' Tom murmured.

'What do you mean, 'no wonder they had their backs turned'?' Harry demanded.

But Tom was unconscious.

* * *

When Tom woke, he recognized the crisp, chemical smell of the Hospital Wing. It was dark; he realized he must have been out for several hours. He tried to remember the exact moment he had passed out, but all he could recall was setting the child down, and Harry's face… 

'Hello, Tom,' said an annoyingly cheerful voice, loud in the nighttime stillness. Tom looked around the other way and started; Albus Dumbledore had been sitting right beside his bed, and he hadn't even noticed. 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm fine,' Tom croaked. Dumbledore handed him a glass of water on the nightstand; Tom sat up, took it and drank greedily.

'You look very tired,' Dumbledore commented, more subdued than before.

Tom blinked sleepily. He _felt_ very tired. 'Where's Harry?'

'Harry is fine. The child is fine. He and his mother have been taken to a safe location. You see, they are the family of a man who left You-Know-Who's service some time ago, and they were to come meet with me today, so that I could be of assistance to them. Unfortunately, Mrs. Karkaroff, her young son, and their escort were intercepted.'

Tom really didn't care. Someone pounded on the door. Dumbledore smiled at Tom, shook his head, and waved his wand at the door, unlocking it. Harry looked surprised to see Dumbledore and frowned at the Headmaster as he walked calmly over to Tom's bedside.

'Hello, Harry,' Tom said.

'You all right?' Harry asked in a monotone, sounding unconcerned, as if this was a formality. _He's mad at me,_ Tom thought.

'Fine,' Tom said shortly, turning away from both of them and closing his eyes.

'I should punish you for breaking school rules, Tom,' Dumbledore continued. Tom did not turn around. 'However, given the fact that you saved the life of a dear child and managed to chase off three Death Eaters –'

Tom did turn around at this. 'How do you know,' – he stopped himself. 'Should I even bother asking?' he said in annoyance.

'No,' Dumbledore replied cheerfully. 'I am also aware that you blew a rather large and expensive hole in Diagon Alley, but that is one of many things that I am content to keep between us – that, and the Cruciatus Curse you cast on Bellatrix Lestrange.'

'Even though it's _Dark _magic, Headmaster?' Tom smirked, belying his innocent tone. Bellatrix Lestrange? That was the nutty one who killed Harry's godfather. _I shouldn't even have to pretend to regret it, then, _he said to himself. He looked at Harry, but his expression was cold.

'Even so,' Dumbledore replied seriously. 'I cannot make your choices for you, Tom. I have tried to give you as good a start into this world as I can. How you choose to use your powers is, ultimately, in your own hands.'

'So even if I use Dark power to save a small child, it's still not all right by _you_, the great Albus Dumbledore?' Tom said coldly, accusingly.

'We both know you have the power to avoid sinking to such methods,' Dumbledore replied, a sad look in his eyes. 'But do not think I am disappointed in you for what you did today, Tom,' he added, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder. Tom glared at it, and it dropped away. 'Regardless of your methods, you saved that boy today, and I don't think you – well,' he finished lamely, 'I'm glad of that much, at least. It's a start.' Dumbledore seemed to be talking more to himself, now, than to Tom. He gave Tom's shoulder one last pat, and led Harry from the room.

* * *

Tom was sleeping dreamlessly in his bed the night after the Hogsmeade trip, having been released by Madame Pomfrey around dinnertime, when Harry shook him furiously. Tom blinked softly and flexed his eyebrows. 'Harry?' he asked sleepily. 

'You could have _died_,' Harry said, his voice shaking. 'I thought you wanted to be immortal.'

'I'm still alive, aren't I?' Tom grumbled. 'Goodnight.'

'_No,_' Harry growled, climbing into bed. 'I won't leave. I'm sorry for acting like an arse last night, okay? Dumbledore was there – what was I supposed to do?' Part of Harry – the logical, reasonable part he hadn't been listening to recently – was telling him how absurd it was for him to be apologizing when it was _Tom_ who had run off to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping, if he was to be believed. The rest of Harry – his pounding, still panicked heart, most importantly – didn't care to take this into account. 'Are you okay now?' he asked.

'I was, until you woke me up,' Tom mumbled. 'Stay.'

'Huh?'

'Stay,' Tom mumbled again. 'Here.'

Harry's first thought was that Tom must not have recovered from the Cruciatus Curse completely yet, and that he should be taken to Madame Pomfrey. But Tom grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the bed, so Harry lay there, above the covers.

Tom was falling back asleep, his hand still resting lightly on Harry's arm. Harry struggled to get under the covers without disturbing him, but was only partially successful; Tom didn't move, but he withdrew his hand. Harry grabbed it back insistently, placing it around himself. He dragged himself closer to Tom until they were lying chest to chest and wrapped his arms around him. Tom's other arm wrapped around Harry, and they lay still together, hugging.

'Harry,' Tom sighed, not even opening his eyes.

Harry lay there for a few moments, his eyes closed, appreciating the warmth and completeness wrapping itself around his chest. 'Love you, Tom,' he whispered, drifting off to sleep.

Neither of them remembered what had been said in the morning.  
**

* * *

akuma-river: **Even if he was chalking it up to weird psychological problems on Harry's part before, you can bet he's going to be going 'WTF?' after _this _chapter, along with a few other characters. Voldemort doesn't see into Harry's waking thoughts, though, just occasional small dream glimpses.

**DarkMarklv: **Next chapter, I _promise_. Cross my heart.

**Monique:** Nightmares shall be getting almost an entire chapter devoted to them very soon.

**Tffne:** No rape.

**Slayerg2000:** No Sirius, he's dead, and I respect his death too much for the $20 it earned me from my friend to take it back.


	24. Verbal Contracts

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Tom discovers his true identity.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M. **Seriously, this is rated M for real this time.  
Author's Note:** Heh, I just realized I screwed up the summary for the last chapter… sorry. It's fixed now. There's also a slight change to the Lestrange battle scene for anyone who cares to read it, but nothing major, and one extra review reply to one I missed. God, it's hard to write an M rated story. I've had to rewrite a certain scene three times now to cut it down from obviously MA content. This is my personal favorite chapter so far (and long, very long) so I hope you all enjoy it and please remember to review, I like hearing from my readers :)

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Verbal Contracts**

Harry woke up slowly the next morning, savoring the warmth of the bed. He recognized hazily that it was a Monday, and that he had to get to Transfiguration soon, but when he looked to the sleeping form on the other side of the bed, facing Harry – they must have moved apart during the night – he couldn't have cared less. He wanted something more desperately than he ever had before, and he was going to get it. He had almost lost him to Death Eaters less than forty-eight hours ago, and he felt as though he had to do something to wash that away.

Harry threw the covers off himself and Tom. Tom curled up slightly against the cold in his sleep, but did not wake up. He carefully made his way over to him, excitement already burning in his stomach and making its way southwards. Carefully, he ran a hand down Tom's side, stroking him several times slowly, before moving his mouth to his chest and capturing a nipple lightly in his mouth.

He sucked at the pink nub, licking and tasting. Tom was awake now and pulling away, but Harry refused to let him this time. He grabbed him to keep him close and moved his mouth up his chest to his neck, trailing kisses there before moving to his jaw, then to the corner of his lips, and then to his cherry-red mouth.

Tom's lips opened, willingly admitting his tongue, and they were both awake enough now for a hot, demanding kiss. Harry moved a hand down the other boy's torso, down his stomach, and grabbed at his crotch through his shorts. Tom half-moaned, half-yelled into his mouth, and ended the kiss. Tom and Harry, being teenage boys, had each become aroused before by the other during their sessions, but Tom always pulled away before he got too hot around the collar, and Harry had ended up bringing himself to completion in his own cold bed on more than one occasion. Tom's hand was now scrambling to grab at Harry's wrist.

'Tom,' Harry said deeply, squeezing gently with his hand. Tom moaned, but his hand still reached down to pull Harry away. 'Tom,' Harry said again, quieter this time, more serious, and Tom turned to him. 'Just be still. Trust me.' Harry wanted to do this, and he knew that he wasn't going to get anywhere if Tom wouldn't trust him a little past his comfort zone. 'I would never hurt you.'

Tom still looked nervous, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, but Harry's hand didn't encounter any resistance as he continued to rub Tom's crotch slowly. 'That's it,' Harry whispered. He had no idea what he was doing, but he was getting harder himself and wasn't going to waste the few working brain cells he had left by thinking about it.

Desire winding tightly around him, Harry managed to pull his hand away and instead put both his hands on Tom's slim hips, at the top of the waistband of his boxers. 'I'm going to pull them off,' he said, and Tom nodded jerkily, biting down on his lip, his face flush with color.

Harry pulled them down gently, stopping as the waistband slipped into Tom's crotch, and then stretching it carefully over his hardness. He let a moan of appreciation escape his closed lips as Tom was revealed, long and flush. Tom sighed with relief, and finished the job Harry had started, pulling his shorts down and off completely.

Harry had seen him naked before in the showers, but it was nothing like this, with all his outer layers of caustic nervousness stripped away to reveal heavy breathing and need. Harry's hands reached down to stroke him, only touching softly, reverently as Harry watched Tom's barriers fall in his eyes to reveal dark, foggy desire.

'Please,' Tom whispered throatily, choking a sob as he place his hands on Harry's and wrapped them around himself until Harry's hands were full. Then Tom let go, and his eyes pleaded. Harry removed one hand and Tom nearly screamed in protest, but then the other squeezed gently and began moving up and down. Harry tried to remember what he liked doing to himself on all those cold nights previous when Tom had driven him to distraction. Tom was arching rhythmically off the bed, and Harry was becoming so painfully hard that he had to focus every bit of willpower on not touching himself. As one hand continued moving up and down, occasionally tightening and making Tom gasp, his other moved down to Tom's balls. Harry held them firmly in his hand, and Tom arched off the bed one last time, more wildly than before, and came.

Tom fell back onto the bed, and Harry couldn't wait any longer; he placed one knee between Tom's legs and started humping him desperately, sliding on Tom's sweaty skin, his upper thigh bumping Tom's softening flesh.

'Tom! Are you okay? AAAHH!'

Harry opened his eyes as he reached his climax between his own stomach and Tom's leg. He only caught a quick glimpse of Ron's horrified expression before the curtains shut again and he heard, from outside them, yells of 'My eyes! My eyes!'

* * *

'Are you sure you won't reconsider letting me kill him?' Tom asked conversationally as they hurried toward class. Transfiguration had started a couple of minutes ago. 

'I'm sure, Tom. He won't tell anyone.'

'I could Obliviate –'

'No,' Harry cut in. He didn't want his best friend to end up like Lockhart. 'Don't worry.'

They reached the class and opened the door. As they walked in, McGonagall's lecture stopped abruptly, and the entire class turned as one to watch them, the volume of the muttering rising steadily.

'Mr. Potter, Mr. Maxwell, please take your seats. Ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness.'

'Yes, Professor,' Harry said. Tom just smirked and winked at her. Professor McGonagall's jaw twitched several times, as if she wanted to take off points for cheek but was actually too angry to do so.

As they walked to their seats, Harry noticed that Ron was looking everywhere but him, his face nearly as flushed as Tom's had been when… well. At his side, Hermione was biting her lip and giving Harry a nervous, desperate look as her eyes flitted around the room in alarm. As he was about to sit down, he saw her mouth 'Witch Weekly,' and that set his mind at ease because he couldn't care less what the latest gossip about him involved as long as Voldemort hadn't killed any more people.

Hermione didn't dare pass notes or give Harry any further indication of what people were talking about in McGonagall's class, but when Harry noticed people turning around to look at him while Professor McGonagall was facing the blackboard and then glancing sideways at Tom, Harry had a feeling he could guess what Witch Weekly had reported. When class was over, Hermione confirmed his suspicions by handing him the magazine, which had a picture of him and Tom in Honeydukes during their October trip to Hogsmeade on the cover, along with the headline 'The Boy Who Lived Finds Love.'

'It's awful, Harry!' she said desperately. 'I'm not usually concerned about this sort of thing, but it makes Tom sound really bad.'

Tom chuckled as he packed his textbook into his bag. 'I hardly care what they're saying about me in some ladies' magazine.'

She frowned. 'Even if they're saying that you crawl into Harry's bed at night to have your wicked way with him while he's asleep, casting all kinds of dark enchantments to keep him in your thrall, under the Headmaster's orders, no less?'

'Actually, that sounds even better,' Tom replied. 'Kinky, isn't it, Harry?'

'Yeah,' he replied, also smiling, 'but they got our roles reversed. _I'm_ the one who sneaks into your bed and has his wicked way with _you_.'

'Stop joking! This is serious!' Hermione cried. Ron looked like he wanted to melt into a pile of goo on the floor. 'I wish I knew who wrote it! It's written anonymously. It seems typical of Rita Skeeter, but I can't be sure, and it wouldn't be fair to reveal that she's an animagus if she doesn't turn out to be the one who wrote these lies.'

'Rita Skeeter?' Tom frowned. All three looked at him, even Ron. 'I remember her. She was in Dumbledore's office that day.'

'That day? What day?' Harry demanded.

'Oh, it's not important,' Tom waved him off. 'What does she turn into?'

'A beetle,' Hermione replied. 'You haven't seen one around, have you?'

Tom thought hard. 'I don't know. Perhaps.'

'Tom, this is important,' Harry insisted.

'How am I supposed to know?' he shrugged. 'I think there was one in Dumbledore's office that day I was speaking with him about getting a new broomstick, right before she showed up with the Minister for Magic.'

'You never mentioned this!' Hermione said sharply.

'Sorry,' he grinned sheepishly. 'Slipped my mind.'

* * *

'I'll give you mental slippage,' Harry growled into his ear after he had told them about his encounter with the Minister and Rita Skeeter. 

'Please do,' Tom smirked back.

Harry blushed. 'I didn't mean it like that!'

'Of course not,' Tom replied airily. 'I'm the one who's putting dirty thoughts in _your_ head via Dark magic, after all.'

'Tom,' Hermione said from behind them. Harry and Tom both stopped and turned to look at her. Hermione gave Harry an exasperated look, but he didn't move. 'I need to speak with _Tom_ privately, if you don't mind.'

'What if I do?' Harry crossed his arms.

'Of course,' Tom smiled cheerfully. 'That is, if you don't mind being late for Herbology.'

'We were already late for class today once,' Harry mumbled. 'We shouldn't be late again.'

'Don't worry, Harry,' Tom grinned, slapping him lightly on the back in camaraderie. Harry scowled. _He's too easy to play with_, Tom thought. 'Hermione and I will only be a few minutes, I'm sure.'

'Yes, yes,' Hermione hurried the conversation impatiently, grabbing Tom's shoulder and steering him away from Harry. For a moment, it looked like Harry was going to grab him back and that he was going to be in the middle of a tug-of-war, but Harry relented and walked away with Ron, glancing back at Tom edgily.

Hermione tugged him along to an empty classroom, and Tom immediately sat down, stretched out and asked, grinning, 'What did you have to discuss with me?'

'It's about what happened in Hogsmeade,' she said sternly, standing up above him. Tom regretted his decision to sit down; he felt much like a student being scolded by a teacher. 'Or, rather, what happened in Diagon Alley after you left Hogsmeade.'

'What about it?'

'I know it was you who blew up that street and chased away the Death Eaters. I was talking about it with Viktor and it all makes sense.'

Tom blinked, trying to remember who 'Viktor' was, and then recalled the man who had pushed the child into his arms that day. 'Yes,' Tom said slowly, waiting for her to continue.

'So you don't deny it?' Hermione asked in surprise.

'Why should I?'

'Because,' Hermione explained impatiently, 'that was Dark magic that Viktor says he couldn't have managed after seven years at Durmstrang!'

'He's from Durmstrang?' Tom commented with interest sparking in his eyes. 'Really? What does he say about their curriculum? Is it true that –' He stopped talking at the quelling look Hermione was giving him. _Play it innocent, Tom. Play it well-meaning._

'Surely your parents didn't teach you that sort of thing?' she asked in shock. 'I mean, it really was a very nasty piece of work from what Viktor was saying, the sort of thing a full-fledged Dark wizard would do. You know,' she continued, 'there are a lot of odd things about you.'

'Thanks,' he said sarcastically.

Hermione ignored him. 'For one thing, the fact that you just showed up at Hogwarts, and for another –'

'I believe all that's been explained,' Tom said shortly, unable to keep his irritation out of his voice.

'I'm sorry,' she sighed. 'I know it seems like I'm giving you a hard time, but I need to make sure that you're not some… some evil Dark wizard working for Voldemort.' Hermione cringed after saying the name.

Tom's mouth hung open for a few moments before he managed to speak again. 'Who… who did you just say?'

'Oh, I'm sorry!' she cried. 'I forgot that you wouldn't want to hear You-Know-Who's name. It's just that _some _people say it so often –'

'Wait,' Tom said sharply, getting to his feet. 'You're saying that You-Know-Who's name is Voldemort? _Lord_ Voldemort?'

'Of course! Didn't you know?' Then she frowned as she remembered. 'No, that's right, you were hit with that Memory Charm by your father, weren't you?'

Tom ignored her immediately after she had confirmed what she had said before. Anger, indignation and disbelief were stirring in the pit of his stomach and filling his lungs. 'We should get to class,' he breathed, nostrils flaring.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I'm fine. Let's just get to class.'

* * *

Tom didn't know why he had been keeping the pill in his pocket, except that he _was_ paranoid and figured that an excuse to get out of class could come in handy. He bit off one end of it while working with Neville on some dangerous plant whose name he couldn't recall at that moment, what with the shock flickering through his brain. Harry kept looking at him; Harry knew something was wrong. It didn't matter; Tom had to leave. 

His nose began bleeding profusely only a few moments later. 'Professor Sprout,' he gasped.

Professor Sprout looked at him in alarm. 'Go on, child, up to Madame Pomfrey with you!'

'I'll go with him!' Harry said loudly.

'I'm sure Mr. Maxwell can find his way on his own, Mr. Potter. It's only a nosebleed.' The squat witch looked at Tom dubiously. He nodded and walked out without glancing at Harry again, though he could feel Harry's eyes on his back as he walked out of the greenhouse.

Tom didn't go to the Hospital Wing. He popped the other end of the Nosebleed Nougat into his mouth and, once the bleeding had stopped, he used a spell to clean his robes as he walked to Gryffindor Tower.

Once he had reached his dormitory, he rifled through the books he had bought in Diagon Alley; Dumbledore, it seemed, had been too distracted by the uproar to think to confiscate them. He settled on 'Ten Most Dangerous Dark Wizards in History' and turned to the section entitled 'He Who Must Not Be Named: _Warning! Name Written In This Section!_' Tom sat down on his bed and read.

* * *

Harry, not being of a paranoid or delinquent disposition, did _not_ have a Skiving Snackbox with him, but resolved to order one from Fred and George directly and carry it around with him wherever he went from then on. He had to wait until class had ended to pursue Tom, despite several pleas to Professor Sprout, who was irritated enough with him by the end of the lesson to assign him extra work. He did not wait for Ron or Hermione, but ran out of class as soon as the bell rang and hurried up to the castle. 

In the hallway, he heard a familiar sneering voice calling to him from up ahead. 'Hey, Potter! What's wrong? Lost your _boyfriend_?' Malfoy called, followed by the laugher of the clique of Slytherins near him. Harry ignored them completely; in fact, he nearly bowled Malfoy over as he went, and he heard an indignant cry, 'Watch where you're going!' as he turned the corner and left the Slytherins behind.

He reached the Gryffindor common room in record time and, before any of his housemates could accost him about the Witch Weekly article, he pelted up the stairs. Harry opened the door to his dormitory. 'Tom? You in here?' He shouted.

Harry looked around, but he couldn't see anyone. He was heading to his trunk to find the Marauder's Map, hoping that Tom was at least somewhere on the grounds, when he was attacked with a spell from behind and sent flying to the floor. Dazed, he couldn't fight off the assailant as his body fell on top of Harry's and one hand curled itself around his neck. He even managed to mutter a spell that tied Harry's wrists and legs together before Harry could think to fight. Then Harry found himself turned around onto his back.

'Tom?' Harry gaped. He couldn't quite believe it. 'What's this all about?'

Tom had adjusted his hand so that it was now choking Harry lightly. He could still breathe, but he was uncomfortable. 'What's this all about?' he whispered softly, a closed look in his eyes. 'Why, it's about Lord Voldemort, of course.'

'What-what do you mean?' Harry spluttered.

'It's no use trying to hide it from me any more, Harry,' he said. Harry tensed up in horror. 'Yes, that's right, I know who I am. I know who _you_ are. I know what you did to me. Now,' Tom continued, his wand raised, 'the only question remaining is _why_.'

'Why _what_?' Harry spat. 'Why you're here? Why we gave you a second chance? Why you're _ruining it_?' he said as loudly as he could manage with his throat clutched in Tom's hand. 'That's the question _I'd_ like the answer to, myself.'

'Never mind,' Tom said softly. 'I understand. It's so simple, and it was so easy for you, wasn't it, Harry?' Tom's grip on Harry's throat tightened. 'And you call me manipulative,' he sneered.

'What… are you… talking about?' Harry whispered harshly.

'You were using _me_ to learn about _him_, weren't you? That's why you were so interested in my nightmares; _that's_ why you wanted to know what they were about!' Tom was shouting lividly now. 'You and Dumbledore, you were both playing me for a fool! Well, I won't play anymore!'

'Don't,' Harry said weakly, spots dancing in his eyes. 'Please, Tom, don't… hurt… yourself...'

'Hurt myself?' Tom's grip on Harry's throat loosened, and Harry started coughing. 'It's _you_ I intend to hurt!'

'It's not like that,' Harry gasped out between breaths. 'We lied, but it was for your good, not ours!'

'My good?' Tom's tightened his hold again, and Harry tried to move to escape, but he was bound too tightly. 'How do your lies help _me_, pray tell?' he spat.

For the first time, it occurred to him that Tom might actually be serious about strangling him to death. 'Let… go…' he choked.

'I want answers, Harry,' he whispered.

'Can't… breathe…' Tom loosened his grip only barely enough for Harry to breathe shallowly again. It didn't feel like enough. 'You're wrong,' Harry gasped. 'I wasn't… wasn't using you, I was protecting you –'

'Who asked you to protect me?' Tom yelled. 'I can take care of myself!'

'It would only have made you hate me if you'd known before,' Harry said, his mind clearing. 'It would have made it harder for me to watch you, to protect you, if you hated me.'

'So when were you intending to get rid of me?' he snarled. 'When were you going to tell Dumbledore you'd gotten everything useful out of me, that you were done with me, so he could finish me off? Did you two talk about it? Did you _laugh_ at how easily you managed to ingratiate yourself to me!'

Harry noticed, looking at Tom's eyes for the first time, that he was more upset than hateful. 'Tom, I wasn't going to throw you away,' he said softly. 'I was never going to throw you away.'

'Liar!' Tom cried. He let go of Harry's throat and wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. 'I hate you.'

'You don't,' Harry said gently. He pushed himself up on his bound hands until he was leaning on his elbows; Tom had backed off and was now sitting on his legs. 'You don't hate me, you like me, and I like you. You don't have to be afraid of me, Tom.'

'I'm not afraid,' Tom replied, his voice shaking.

'Then why are you doing this?'

'Because you betrayed me,' he replied, and there was such a mixture of anger and hurt in his voice that Harry couldn't tell where one emotion ended and the other began, and nor, he thought, could Tom.

'I didn't.' Harry didn't know how, but the bonds around his hands had loosened enough for him to slip out of them. He kept one on the ground to steady himself, but the other reached up to Tom's face and pressed against his warm cheek. Tom pointed his wand at Harry more insistently, but Harry ignored it – he couldn't truly believe Tom would hex him, not when he was looking at Harry so hopefully, _wanting_ to believe him.

'You were Lord Voldemort,' Harry said, 'but I see you and him as completely different people now. I don't see his hatred and evil when I look at you. You do hate, and you can do evil things, but you haven't twisted so much that you can't feel happiness unless you're torturing or killing. There's good in you, and I would never destroy it.'

Tom was shaking more, and he turned away from Harry's hand. 'And when I do turn into that, you'll destroy me? That's what I_ want,_ Harry.' Tom turned back to him, a determined look upon his face. 'I want to become what he is. I want the power.'

'You won't become him. You can't, even if you want to. He would kill you if you tried.'

'Not if I kill him first.'

Harry felt so sad, so very sad, when he looked up at Tom's bitter, angry face. 'There are other ways to be powerful. There are other ways to not let other people hurt you again than destroying every last trace of your humanity.'

'Like what?' Tom snarled. 'I don't want to be some Ministry puppet. I'm too good for that.'

'Do you think I'm powerless, Tom?' he asked.

Tom's eyebrows raised at the question. 'You're… you're tied down under me –'

'That's not what I asked,' Harry said firmly. 'I want to know if you think I'm powerless. Don't you think I can take care of myself?'

'If even half the yarns you've spun are true, I'd have to say that you can. What's the point of this?'

'I don't intend to be a Dark Lord or a Ministry puppet. There are places in between. You can still have control over your life without destroying others. I know how important power is to you. You're a Slytherin. Power isn't so bad. Sometimes I wish I could have more of it, myself,' Harry said wryly. 'Let me in,' he continued softly. 'I won't hurt you, and I'll help protect you from anyone who would, just like I know you'd protect me. We both gain from it.'

Tom snorted. 'And what makes you sosure I'd do that? We're enemies, if you recall.'

Harry smiled. 'Because you care about me, even if you're too,' – he wanted to say 'scared' but wasn't sure how well that would go over right now – 'even if you don't like caring about me. And we're not enemies anymore; maybe we were at first, but even if you hexed me right now I wouldn't raise a finger to hurt you. I can't protect you from everything, but… but I'll try to make it worth your while to stay human. I'll try to make the good parts outweigh the bad.'

'That's quite a challenge to take upon yourself,' Tom said dryly.

'I don't want to lose you,' Harry replied frankly. He used his free hand to turn Tom to face him, and looked into his eyes. 'You're the most important person in my life.'

'You're being overly maudlin,' Tom said scornfully, but Harry could tell his heart wasn't in it. 'I'm never going to be a goody two-shoes Gryffindor,' he said stubbornly. 'If you're signing up for keeping me human, you ought to know that I have no intention of giving up my study of the Dark Arts or any other brand of magic that comes my way.'

Harry saw that it was costing Tom a lot to be this honest; he usually tried to hide his darker intentions, even from Harry. It was as if he was being warned off, and Harry couldn't help but smile. _No chance of that. You should know I'm too much of a goody two-shoes Gryffindor, Tom._ 'I didn't expect you to. You wouldn't be _you_ if you did. Besides,' he grinned and shook his head, 'I think I'm too used to the wild life by now to settle down, myself. Just as long as you don't expect me to let you _drown_ in the Dark Arts instead of study them, or expect me to stand aside and let you get into trouble without me at your back, we'll get along fine. That means no more solo battles with Death Eaters,' he added, scowling at the thought. Tom smirked and released Harry from his bonds with a flick of his wand, and they both stood up.

'Now all we need is to sign that in blood,' Tom said.

Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was serious or not. 'Let's stick with a verbal contract.'

* * *

As they were heading down to lunch, Tom pondered the bizarreness of what had just transpired. There he had been, lying in wait for Harry to come in so he could beat the stuffing out of him, put him under Imperius and use him to assassinate Dumbledore, and now they were practically skipping through a field of daisies together! He knew he should have been nauseated by it, that he should be kicking himself and promising that he wouldn't be dissuaded from his original plan no matter what he and Harry had agreed, but he couldn't bring himself to think it, not _really_, and he couldn't understand why. 

He had to admit Harry was more than a friend to him – no pair of friends touched the way they touched, he was sure – but was he seriously considering dragging the little Gryffindor snot around with him for… how long? Forever? Would he take him to the deepest recesses of Africa, of Albania, to wherever he happened to find the power which he sought? Harry certainly wouldn't be very entertained by Tom's idea of fun. _But he said he didn't expect me to change,_ a little voice said hopefully. _He said he'd keep me human. He said he wanted to protect me; that he didn't want to lose me. Was it all to save his skin, or…?_

'You're thinking too much,' Harry whispered in his ear. Tom noticed a group of girls giggling at them as they passed.

'Someone has to do the thinking,' Tom commented.

'I _think_,' Harry said in mock indignation.

'I don't keep you around for thinking,' Tom said dismissively.

'Really? And what _do_ you keep me around for?' Harry whispered.

He didn't answer. _Damned if I know._

* * *

The train ride out of Hogwarts that Friday was not as enjoyable as Harry might have hoped. Hermione kept staring avidly at Tom; she had been acting wary of him ever since the Diagon Alley events, and she would _examine_ him (rudely, in Harry's opinion) for ages, as if expecting to solve some great mystery just by looking at him. Harry, who knew that there _was_ a great mystery to solve, and that Hermione was up to solving it, was increasingly disconcerted by her. Sometimes Tom would stare back at her for a while, as if it was a game, and she would, eventually, look away. Ron was the only one trying very hard to make things pleasant, as if the train ride was some party he was hosting and it was his job to keep the guests happy. Harry tried to oblige him, but it was just no good while he had to worry about what Hermione was up to. 

Finally, after they had needed to prod Hermione twice to get her mind back on their game of Exploding Snap, Harry decided he'd had enough. 'Hermione, we need to talk somewhere privately.'

'Of course, Harry,' she said, sounding partially bewildered and partially hopeful that he might answer some of her questions. _Nothing doing, Hermione,_ he thought unhappily.

They left the compartment and found another for themselves; the train wasn't very full this year, as many parents seemed to think that their sons and daughters were safer at Hogwarts under the watchful eye of Albus Dumbledore than at home. 'Hermione, it's about Tom,' Harry began.

'Yes, it _is_ about Tom,' she agreed. 'I know there's something odd going on. Oh, yes, he has stories,' she went on, 'but I'm not sure that I believe them anymore, do you?'

'Tom's stories aren't true,' Harry agreed, 'and I know what the truth is. All of it.'

Hermione looked at him in surprise. 'Then why on earth haven't you told us? What's going on? Where did he learn all that advanced Dark magic? I asked Viktor, and he said he never saw him at Durmstrang, and even in a place like that he would be hard not to notice.'

'Do you remember when you had the Time-Turner, and you couldn't tell us about it?' Harry prodded her.

'Well, of course I couldn't!' Hermione replied defensively. 'The Ministry of Magic – not to mention Professor McGonagall – ordered me not to tell _anyone_, not even you.'

'Exactly,' Harry said, 'and that's the sort of fix I'm in right now with Tom's secrets, only his are more likely to cost his life if I spill them, not to mention Dumbledore's trust.'

Hermione bit her lip, wanting to say more but, he could tell, also feeling guilty. 'Hermione,' Harry said firmly, taking her hands in his and looking into her eyes, 'I know you mean well. I know you don't mean to cause Tom or me any trouble. But some secrets need to be kept. This isn't a mystery for you to solve. I want you to promise me not to go rummaging around looking for information about Tom. You probably could figure it out if you tried,' he added drolly, 'but I don't think satisfying your curiosity is worth costing Tom his safety. The fewer people that know, the less likely it is that he'll be hurt.'

Hermione nodded, looking to be near tears. 'Don't feel bad,' he urged her, 'I don't mean it in a scolding way –'

'I know, Harry,' she interrupted, looking up at him, 'but I do feel guilty about letting my curiosity get the better of me. If you say that I shouldn't go needling around in his affairs then I won't, I promise you. But I want you to promise me to be careful, because I _know_ you two are involved – everyone does now, don't they? Lavender and Parvati are furious with you, you know,' she said, smiling and shaking her head. 'Even if the particulars of what was written were terrible falsehoods… Harry, don't let him hurt you, _please_? You've been through enough already.'

'He won't hurt me,' Harry smiled. 'He's had plenty of opportunity to do so, and more motive than you would believe, but he hasn't, and he won't.'

Hermione accepted this answer, and Harry was relieved that she wouldn't be prying so much anymore. They went back to the compartment together, and all four had a much better time.

* * *

Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, and several other members of the Order were there on the platform to escort Harry and the others to their destination. Harry could tell that Tom was slightly discouraged by the glowering looks he was receiving from Moody, but he didn't think it likely that Moody would be around much during their vacation, so he couldn't be too much of an issue. Harry was more worried about Remus Lupin – who wasn't there on the platform to greet them – than anyone else. 

Their arrival at 12 Grimmauld Place was boisterous, and as joyous as it could possibly be for Harry considering how strongly the place reminded him of his godfather. Moody handed over a piece of paper similar to the one he'd handed Harry over a year before with extreme reluctance, making sure all present knew that, though he had the greatest respect for Dumbledore, he thought that the old man was off his rocker to be letting Tom into Grimmauld Place. Harry didn't think any of the others could possibly know who Tom was since they all acted as though Moody's unfriendliness was an embarrassment to them and were extra nice to Tom to balance things out. When they all got inside, Mrs. Weasley greeted each of them with a hug in turn – even Tom, who she had never met before. Tom was so completely floored by her that he did nothing but stare at Mrs. Weasley's back in apparent fascination as she led them into the kitchen for a late dinner while other Order members took their luggage upstairs.

Inside the kitchen they were met by Bill, Fred, George, and Lupin. Fred and George couldn't stop talking about their business and asking how things were at their old Alma Mater while their mother finished preparing dinner. Bill occasionally contributed, as well. None of the older Weasley boys were talking to Tom much since they didn't know him well, but Tom didn't seem to mind; he was still watching Mrs. Weasley, though with more apprehension in his eyes than before. Harry was surprised at how reticent Tom was being; he usually tried to impress new faces by turning on all the false charm he could spout. He had done so when they had met the Order at the station, so why not now?

Harry was only halfway paying attention to the loud, excited conversation the Weasleys were carrying on; he was all too aware of Lupin sitting in a chair in the corner, unmoving. He hadn't strung three words together since they had entered. Then Lupin stood up slowly; Harry stared at him and Lupin stared at Tom, who was staring at Mrs. Weasley. He walked over to where Harry, Tom, Ron and Hermione were sitting, and tapped Tom on the shoulder. He started at the touch and looked away from Mrs. Weasley with clear reluctance.

'Hello, Tom,' Lupin said softly, smiling kindly at him. Harry thought it strange how he could hear him so clearly even over the din of the Weasleys.

'Hello,' Tom replied.

'I'm looking forward to getting to know you over the holidays,' Lupin said.

'Yes,' Tom said, sounding nervous and lost. _What's got into him?_ Harry wondered.

Lupin took a seat next to Harry, which was as close as he could sit to Tom, and began talking to him further. He seemed to be encouraging Tom to speak; Tom continued giving short, uncharacteristically unsure answers, still shooting furtive looks at Mrs. Weasley until she brought dinner over.

He acted no less strange over dinner. He would answer any questions posed to him quietly and politely, but especially so when Mrs. Weasley spoke to him. She asked him if he was feeling all right, and if he might want to lie down. He replied with a very soft 'I am tired, ma'am,' and Lupin offered to show him to his room. Tom accepted, and then he and Lupin were gone. _What the hell is wrong?_ Harry thought, now very worried. _Is he sick?_

'Told you he's a little off, Mum,' Fred said.

'I really don't know what you see in him, Harry,' George said, shaking his head and winking at Harry surreptitiously.

'Boys!' Mrs. Weasley growled. 'I won't have you mentioning that-that filth –'

'You mean the Witch Weekly article?' Harry asked.

'Yes,' Mrs. Weasley replied. 'Oh, Harry, dear, I don't believe a _word _of that nonsense.'

'Part of it is true,' he offered. The whole table was gaping at him save Ron and Hermione. He figured he may as well tell them now since they were bound to find out. _Better that they find out from me than from catching us in an awkward position,_ he thought, remembering Ron's embarrassment. 'Tom and I _are_ in a relationship. I don't see the point in hiding that anymore.' He remembered how he had acted in front of Dumbledore when Tom was in the Hospital Wing, and felt slightly ashamed. 'None of the awful bits about him are true, though. He's really a very nice person.' This comment he directed at Fred and George, but they weren't at all affected by it.

'Oh… well…' Mrs. Weasley stuttered. 'I… that's very… that's very nice, Harry. He seems like… like a very nice –'

'He's dead boring,' George griped.

'And here I always thought you and Ron…' Fred said dramatically.

'Shut up,' Ron replied. His ears were turning red with embarrassment.

'He's anything _but_ boring.' Harry replied. _He could do with being a bit more boring, actually._ 'He's brilliant, and I like him very much.'

'I didn't even realize you were gay,' Fred said. Bill and George both nodded fervently. 'You sure he hasn't got you under some evil Dark spell?'

'Positive,' Harry smiled. 'And I ought to warn you not to go walking into our room without knocking.'

Ron looked like he was going to sink under the table. Everyone else just sat with their jaws open.

'You have separate rooms, for your information!' Mrs. Weasley scolded.

'Well, that will have to be changed,' Harry said stubbornly. He wasn't going to beat around the bush; this might be the only time he and Tom would get to be together without having to worry about roommates walking in.

Mrs. Weasley looked aghast. Fred and George were looking at him as if he were their new hero; he doubted they had ever dared to tell their mother that they were sleeping in the same room as a boyfriend or girlfriend, thank-you-very-much. But she wasn't his mother, and this wasn't even her house, and he wasn't backing down. She seemed to be realizing these facts herself as she stared at him.

'Very well,' she said gruffly, making as if to clean up the plates. 'If you must, I suppose I can't stop you.'

'I don't mean to make trouble,' Harry said, trying to appease her. He didn't want Mrs. Weasley cross with him; he appreciated her concern, _very_ deep down. 'It's just that Tom and I are very close –'

'You've only known him a few months!' she protested, unable to stop herself.

'I know,' he said, running a hand through his hair. 'I can't explain it in words, but it feels like he and I have known each other a lot longer than that. Haven't you ever had that feeling when… when you can't even remember what life was like before you met someone? It's like that,' he finished lamely. 'Anyway, I just thought you should know.'

'Well, thank you for telling me, at least,' she said. His answer seemed to have appeased her somewhat; it was as if she _did_ understand what he meant, about not remembering how life had felt before meeting a particular person. She looked at Ron and Hermione, as if expecting them to make some announcement, but both were very quiet.

They all helped Mrs. Weasley put away the dishes. Lupin came back in when they were nearly finished, and Mrs. Weasley rushed to him, speaking to him in short whispers that Harry knew concerned him, and it made him annoyed. Lupin looked at Harry with nothing short of pale-faced shock and, seeing that he had Harry's attention, he motioned him out of the room. _May as well get it over with,_ Harry sighed.

Harry walked out of the room on Lupin's heels; they continued walking in silence until they reached the drawing room. Harry and Lupin took seats across from each other, and Harry waited for the berating to begin.

He had been expecting a Sirius-like explosion, but he had forgotten that Lupin's manner had never been like that of his godfather. 'Harry, I'm not going to bother telling you to stop this relationship,' he said frankly. Harry's eyebrows raised in astonishment. 'I know I won't be able to convince you because I, unlike Molly,' he said with an ironic grin, 'remember what it was like when I was your age, and I know that any scolding I could give you would only serve to alienate us and attach you more to Tom. Am I right?'

'You're right, sir,' Harry said honestly. He was amazed at how… cool Lupin was being about him being in a romantic relationship with Tom Riddle.

'So all I'm going to say is that if you ever have problems, I want you to come straight to me or to Dumbledore. Is that clear?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied. He probably would have agreed to almost anything at that point; he was still happily surprised that he wasn't getting yelled at.

'Good.' Lupin said, managing to smile at Harry despite the subject they were discussing. And that was that.

* * *

Tom woke up from his nap to find himself engulfed in darkness, with Harry nowhere in sight, nor the werewolf. Lupin had stayed with him while he fell asleep, as if suspicious that he was trying to skive off to read up on Unforgivables or something. Tom really had been tired, but that wasn't the reason he had left; he had been unnerved since the moment that woman, Mrs. Weasley, had thrown her arms around him in greeting. He had hardly ever been hugged before, and certainly not by people he had just met. It had reminded him painfully of… 

Before he could shake them out of his head, the opening of the door swept the unhappy memories under the proverbial rug. Harry came in, shutting the door quietly behind him and tiptoeing toward the bed as though trying not to wake Tom. 'Harry?' Tom whispered.

'Sorry,' he whispered back. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'

'I was already awake,' Tom said, louder than a whisper this time since, for once, there was no one around for them to wake up.

'Are you feeling okay?' Harry asked as he stripped.

'Yes,' Tom replied softly, watching Harry out of half-lidded eyes. 'I'm just tired.'

Then he remembered something he had wanted to ask Harry about and sat bolt upright, startling both of them. 'Harry,' he said urgently. 'I wanted to ask you something about Voldemort… the other Voldemort, I mean.' It was something that Tom had been turning around in his head ever since he had found out his identity, something that just didn't add up.

'What is it?'

'Why did he try to kill you when you were a baby? It seems to me that it you'd be a pretty minor inconvenience to warrant him going to all that trouble to kill you.'  
_

* * *

Here it comes,_ Harry thought, bracing himself. 'The answer to that question involves quite a lot of explaining. Are you sure you're up for it?'

'Definitely,' Tom said.

'Okay.' Harry took a deep, steadying breath before climbing into bed, getting under the covers to protect himself from the chill air. He and Tom faced each other, Tom looking at him expectantly. The room was dark, but Harry could still feel Tom's curiosity burning his skin. 'It's like this…'

Harry told Tom everything, including the Prophecy – which he emphasized he hadn't told anyone else. Tom took it all in seriously. It took Harry a good bit of work to be able to tell him the Prophecy at all; his work at Occlumency with Snape had involved placing that particular bit of information firmly behind several mental locks to protect it from any invasion Voldemort might try to make, and it was a while before he could unlock and then relock it again.

'So it's either him or you, then?' Tom said finally, after hearing the Prophecy from Harry several times.

'It seems so,' Harry said gravely.

'It…you don't think it might apply to the two of us, do you?' Tom asked.

'No,' Harry replied. 'I've thought about that. _You _never marked me as your equal; my parents never defied _you_. That was all long after your time, so it couldn't possibly have to do with you.'

Tom seemed to relax a bit when he heard that. 'So we have to off him, then,' he said simply.

Harry couldn't help but smile; that had to be the definition of 'easier said than done.' _'I_ have to off him,' Harry corrected him.

'As if I'd let you have that much fun without me,' Tom smirked in the dark.

Harry's smile broadened; it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest just by talking to Tom about it. Then, feeling as if there couldn't possibly be a better time to ask, he said, 'Could I ask you something?'

Tom was quiet. 'You're… I think I know what you're going to ask me,' he said slowly, 'and I'm willing to explain about my dreams, if you really want to know so desperately –'

'I do,' Harry said fervently,

' – but I'd like to wait until we get back to Hogwarts,' Tom concluded.

Harry's face fell, though Tom probably couldn't see it. 'Why?' he asked. It seemed to him like Tom was just putting it off again. Tom didn't have nightmares nearly so frequently when Harry was sleeping with him, but Harry still wanted to know what they were all about in the first place.

'I… there's something there that I think would make it easier,' he said evasively. 'I think you would understand more if I explained there.'

'I've waited this long,' Harry sighed, 'so I guess I can wait a little longer.'

'Thank you,' Tom breathed. He turned over and Harry spooned up behind him, their preferred sleeping position of late. 'Thank you.'


	25. Abandoned, Pleased, Brainwashed

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Harry delves into Tom's nightmares.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M.  
**Author's Note:** Sheesh, about time this was uploaded, I've been trying to get it up for half a day but this site didn't want to cooperate. We're on the last three chapters (theoretically… certainly not if they get any longer than this). This chapter was pretty challenging, mostly because Tom's issues are emotionally exhausting to write about. I hope you enjoy the chapter (though 'enjoy' probably isn't the right word this time… you'll see what I mean) and don't forget to review. The title comes from a song by Sonata Arctica, if any of you happen by some wild chance to have heard of it.

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Abandoned, Pleased, Brainwashed, Exploited**

The days Tom had spent so far at Grimmauld Place were some of the best of his life. He and Harry would wake up together in the same bed at whatever time they pleased (which was sometimes around noon, since they tended to have very late nights) and then they would pick up where they had left off the night before, either groping each other to completion or sometimes using their mouths. Tom still wasn't very comfortable with either receiving or giving this pleasure, but it did feel wonderful once Harry learned to sheathe his teeth, and Tom stopped choking.

They weren't allowed to use magic at Grimmauld Place because of the Restrictions on Underage Wizardry, but they still had chores to do after showering (together) and shaving and dressing. It was a large place and Mrs. Weasley couldn't manage it alone, though the workload had lessened tremendously since that first year of combat with the house. Chores only took an hour or so out of their day and before long they were free to do as they pleased. They did homework (Tom helping Harry so they could get it over with as quickly as possible), or they talked and played games alone together or with Ron and Hermione. Sometimes Ginny, Bill, and the twins would join in.

This wasn't to say they spent all their time together; if Harry was busy discussing Quidditch strategy with Ron, or getting annihilated by Ron or Hermione in a game of wizard chess, or when Tom was simply tired of being around so many people (he wasn't as social as Harry by nature) he would instead find himself in the quiet company of Remus Lupin. Lupin – along with everyone else at Grimmauld Place – was all too aware of Tom's relationship with Harry, but he seemed to be the least bothered by it of them all.

Tom was actually very content to be with Lupin; when Tom wished to read quietly by himself, Lupin would leave him alone and sit reading near him, and didn't even comment on the subject matter of the books Tom read. When he sensed Tom wouldn't mind talking – and he seemed to have an innate way of knowing when this was – they would discuss all manner of things together. He wasn't nearly as comfortable talking with Lupin as he was with Harry, but Lupin never asked him more than he was willing to answer, as if he had an innate sense of that, too. Tom himself was burning with curiosity about what it was like being a werewolf, and if Lupin was at all perturbed by these personal questions, he didn't show it. He always answered frankly and honestly about his transformations and his persecution in the wizarding community. They could also talk about the Dark Arts together – Lupin knew a surprising amount about them for such a nice fellow – and that would lead to talking about Defense. Lupin had a lot of personal experience in the subject fighting Dark creatures and Dark wizards, and Tom enjoyed listening to his stories. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Remus Lupin; he was sure Lupin was only spending time with him on Dumbledore's orders, but he did make it pleasant, so Tom couldn't quite dislike him.

He also never mentioned Tom's relationship with Harry except once, when he told Tom that he could talk to him if he had any questions. He said he had experience in homosexual relationships, so he could give him any general advice on subjects he wasn't comfortable about. Tom wasn't nearly friendly enough with Lupin to ask these questions, but Harry had told Tom that he'd asked Lupin for some advice on fellatio (not that Harry used _that_ word for it, but Tom preferred thinking of it that way). Harry also said that Lupin was the one cleaning their sheets for them, since they couldn't do magic and the sheets would be threadbare if they washed them manually as often as was needed. Tom had thought Mrs. Weasley was the one doing that, but when he thought about it, it made more sense for it to be Lupin.

He had quickly become disenchanted with Mrs. Weasley. She asked all sorts of questions about where Tom was from, what his parents were like, and so on that even _he_ had some trouble coming up with enough misinformation off the top of his head. Ron had explained, sounding very embarrassed, that his mum really liked Harry and was only trying to make sure Tom was alright for him, but Tom didn't much appreciate some woman he didn't know judging him like a vegetable she was feeling up to make sure it wasn't rotten. If _Harry_ thought he was right for him, what business was it of _hers_? Tom asked Ron this very question, but Ron could only blush and shrug apologetically. Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, was very busy and rarely seen, but he was more like Lupin than like his raucous wife. _Yet another example of how opposites attract_.

The day before Christmas Tom woke up to an empty bed. Feeling distinctly disgruntled because he had become used to waking up with Harry and didn't like changes in his schedule – at least he tried to tell himself that was the reason – Tom had his usual morning shower alone (and it felt as though he had far too much room to himself). Upon arriving downstairs, he was informed by Hermione that Harry, Remus and a couple other members of the Order had left early that morning and that they were due back at any minute.

Three hours later they returned. Tom had spent the time being watched closely by Hermione and Ron, who seemed to have had the fear of God (or Harry) put into them about making sure not to let him out of their sight. He was beginning to feel very annoyed about having to argue with Ron about going on the loo on his own when the front door burst open, letting in happy chatter and loud footsteps. Tom heard at least two pairs of feet clomping up the stairs and back down again before Harry came in to the kitchen to greet him.

'Tom!' Harry smiled broadly. 'Sorry I've been out. I had something to take care of.'

'Like what?' Tom grumbled.

'You'll find out tomorrow,' Harry said cryptically.

He walked behind Tom and kneaded his shoulders firmly. If Harry did this specifically to get back in Tom's good graces, Tom was irritated with himself to admit it was working. Harry had found that Tom had a weakness for backrubs and Harry always used it against him when Tom was being grumpy. He knocked Harry's hands away, still not very comfortable with flaunting their relationship publicly. Ron and Hermione were sitting across from Tom, looking discomfited by Harry's affection for him, but Harry didn't acknowledge them except with a quick 'Hello,' before nudging Tom up insistently by the arm and hauling him back to their room. He soon found out why.

* * *

Harry and Tom both woke up early the next morning. It was Christmas, and Harry was eager to give Tom the present he had bought him yesterday. Several other members of the Order had been doing some last minute Christmas shopping as well, as it turned out, so they hadn't minded escorting Harry around Diagon Alley to look for a present for Tom. It had taken much longer than Harry had expected to find the perfect gift and even Lupin was getting fed up with him by the time he finally found something special enough to give Tom on their first Christmas together. It had cost a bomb, but Harry could afford it easily. Then he had worn everyone's patience to the breaking point when he insisted on finding the perfect wrapping paper, so he had given up on that (Tom wouldn't even glance at the wrapping, anyway) and they all had gone to the Leaky Cauldron for a round of drinks, which improved everyone's mood and healed their frazzled nerves. 

Harry and Tom both had sizeable piles of presents on either side of the bed, and Tom seemed so surprised to have anything that it took Harry several minutes to prod him into opening something. They took turns opening presents, each watching the other and going slowly to savor the moment.

Tom got to Harry's present about halfway through. 'Who's this one from?' he asked, in the same amazed way in which he had asked about all the presents he'd opened so far.

'Me,' Harry smiled, shuffling closer so he could see Tom's face really clearly as he opened it. Tom tore off the wrapping and slowly picked up the lid of the box. Then he reached into the tissue.

Harry tried to focus on the flabbergasted, shining, smiling look on Tom's face so he could remember it whenever he wanted. 'I don't believe it,' Tom gaped, blinking. 'You… you got me a Pensieve?'

'I told you, you think too much,' Harry smiled. 'I was hoping this might help you sort out all those thoughts whizzing around in your overlarge brain.'

'These… these are really expensive,' Tom said. 'I can't accept it.' He turned to Harry and pushed the Pensieve toward him.

Harry pushed it back and glared. 'Don't be an arse. I know how much it cost – _I'm_ the one who bought it. It's for you because I…' His throat choked on the words. 'Just keep it. I want you to have it.'

'Thank you,' he whispered. 'It really is too generous, though.'

'No, it's not,' Harry said. 'It's my turn.' He grabbed up a small box on the top of the pile.

'That's from me,' Tom said, looking up from his new Pensieve, but still turning it around in his hands reverently.

Harry opened it, and Tom went into a flurry of explanation about how it worked before Harry had even picked up the watch inside. 'Cool,' Harry said at the end of Tom's spiel. 'Sounds like it'll come in handy, that's for sure. I'll have to check my watch more than usual!' he laughed. 'But where did you get the money for it?'

'Dumbledore gave me a bit of cash, but I'm paying him back for it next time I talk to him. I want the gift to be from me, not him,' Tom muttered.

'Where did you get the money to pay Dumbledore back for it, then?' Harry asked, putting the watch on and turning his wrist around to examine it. Tom didn't answer, but Harry didn't think to prod him; he was too intrigued by his gift. Even if it weren't a hidden Foe Glass it would still be a very nice watch. Harry felt awkward wearing it in his casual clothes, like he wasn't good enough for it. _I bet even Malfoy would be impressed_.

They finished unwrapping their presents, which included traditional Weasley jumpers for both of them. Harry's was the usual green that brought out his eyes, while Tom's was a luminous silver-gray. 'Look at us, both in Slytherin colors!' Tom grinned. 'I didn't think she liked me,' he added.

Harry thought she must like him, as the material she had knit his jumper from seemed expensive. 'If Mrs. Weasley didn't like you she'd have swatted us apart with her broomstick by now,' he said, only half joking.

The rest of Christmas Day was a friendly group affair; everyone was truly cheerful, and it was hard for Harry not to be himself, despite his bittersweet memories of the previous Christmas. Everyone seemed to sense his occasional grim moods throughout the day and early evening, even Tom, who would give him a soft peck on the cheek or merely hold his hand firmly in a highly uncharacteristic public show of affection. Just knowing Tom cared enough to 'embarrass him with such putrid nonsense,' as he had put it when Harry first kissed him lightly on the jaw at the table during dinner on their second evening at Grimmauld place, lifted Harry's spirits. At the end of the day as he lay in bed he was not thinking mournfully of Sirius as he would have expected to be in September; Tom was spooned around behind him, in a reverse of their usual sleeping position, and he was only thinking, with sleepy sentimentality, how wonderful life was.

* * *

Dumbledore called the day after Christmas. He was very cheerful, but Harry could tell by the looks he was giving him as he drank his tea that he hadn't come over for a friendly chat. Sure enough, once Dumbledore finished his tea he asked to speak with Harry privately. Harry agreed – as if he had a choice – and found himself being led to the same room in which he had spoken with Lupin the day of his arrival. He took a seat in the same chair, and Dumbledore took Lupin's. 

'Harry, I have heard from Remus that you are supposedly engaged in an illicit relationship with Tom,' he said, not a trace of humor in his eyes as he conjured up another cup of tea.

'It's not _illicit_,' Harry said. 'I've been open and honest about it. There's no point in not doing so after that Witch Weekly article. I'm not ashamed of him.' He was glaring at the Headmaster confrontationally, daring him to argue.

'Even knowing what he is,' Dumbledore said softly, ignoring Harry's glare, 'even realizing that he has killed, and would have no trouble doing so again, you accept him?'

'I do, sir,' Harry growled. 'To be frank, I find having you lecture me about giving someone a second chance to be highly hypocritical.' He knew he was being rude, and he knew that Dumbledore could turn him into a teaspoon to stir his tea with if he so chose, but it was worth all that to defend Tom. 'He hasn't done anything murderous since he got here except scare off a few Death Eaters. You'll have to pardon me for not being too alarmed by _that_,' he finished sarcastically.

'I didn't say I disapproved, Harry,' Dumbledore said softly, some slight humor shining through his spectacles now. 'In fact, I'm happy for you both.'

Harry couldn't have felt more set down if Dumbledore _had_ turned him into a teaspoon, and his indignation ebbed away. 'But… but you said –'

'I just wanted to be absolutely sure you know what you're getting into,' he explained, 'for both your sakes. I believe you know better than anyone what Tom is capable of and if you see him as someone worthy of defending and loving then I could not be more pleased that you have both found someone to be with. Even if most people would disapprove… well, my brother Aberforth didn't let that bother him when he and his dear Bessie got together. 'Aberforth,' they said to him, 'it's just not right to do that sort of thing with a goat.' But Aberforth didn't take any of it to heart, oh, no, he kept right on… well…' Dumbledore collected himself.

'That's not to say I approve of certain other activities you two have engaged in,' he continued, 'but I think you could have nothing but a positive impact on him, Harry.'

'Thank-thank you,' Harry said, his face going beet-red.

'And he has also found out about his true identity?'

'Yes. Hermione let it slip,' Harry replied.

'And he didn't try to kill you?' Dumbledore was smiling widely now.

'Er… we talked,' Harry said lamely.

'Excellent!' The Headmaster clapped his hands together. 'It is best for there to be no secrets between two partners in a serious relationship. It is a serious relationship, I hope? Neither Tom nor you strike me as the sorts of persons to give themselves away easily to another.'

'It is serious, sir,' Harry muttered. This had to be the strangest conversation he and Dumbledore had ever engaged in.

'Good. Well, off you go, then. Tell Tom to come in here to speak with me, won't you?'

'Yes sir.' Harry left gratefully, though he wasn't looking forward to finding Tom.

* * *

'Headmaster,' Tom greeted Dumbledore curtly as he walked in, settling himself into the warm chair that Harry had recently vacated. 

'Tom,' Dumbledore smiled. 'I've already spoken about the particulars of what I came here for with Harry, so there's no need to subject you more than just one question: _how do you feel_?'

'I'm fine,' Tom replied.

'I don't mean physically, Tom,' he said gravely. 'I've known Harry for many years, you know. I've watched him more closely than he realizes, even before he came to Hogwarts.'

'How nice for him,' Tom sneered.

'Suffice to say,' Dumbledore continued, ignoring Tom's comment, 'I feel that I know him rather well, better than I've known most students who have passed in and out of Hogwarts, including you. I can tell that Harry is in love with you.' Tom looked up, his eyes flashing. 'I'm not going to be so presumptuous as to demand that you tell me you love him in return –'

'That sounds like it's exactly what you're doing,' Tom smirked. He looked into Dumbledore's eyes, daring them to see through him, but that piercing look never came.

'Don't tempt me,' the Headmaster said. 'As long as you can assure me that you –'

'Harry and I are fine, sir,' Tom interrupted coldly. 'Is that all? If it is, then I was hoping I could repay you the money you gave me at the beginning of the year and just leave –'

'I told you not to worry about that money,' he scolded. He stood up and quelled Tom's protesting with a wave of his hand. 'I had best get back to Hogwarts. Take care of yourself… and Harry.' He Apparated away without another word.

Tom shook his head. _At least he didn't ask me how I was intending to pay him back. Then I would have had to explain about Gringotts._

In that instant, Dumbledore popped back into the room. 'Tom,' he said slowly, a suspicious tone in his voice, 'how were you going to pay me back?'

* * *

Harry was livid when he heard about the information Dumbledore had wrung out of Tom. He entered the room after Dumbledore had left, and Tom told him about what had been said. Dumbledore, needless to say, had been just as unimpressed as Harry was. 'I can't believe you did something so stupid!' Harry raged at him. _How could he have just waltzed into Gringotts and declared who he was?_

'I needed more money,' he shrugged. 'Sorry.'

'Sorry? You may have alerted Voldemort to your presence!'

'I didn't know that at the time!' Tom argued. 'Besides, I'm sure he's got more than enough clues to figure me out by now.'

Harry's eyes widened in fear. 'What… what do you –'

'The _Witch Weekly_ article!' Tom growled. 'My picture was on the front cover, if you'll recall. Surely the face will be familiar to him?'

'But… but Voldemort won't read _Witch Weekly_,' Harry said, not sounding too sure of his own words.

'I think I'd read just about anything I could get my hands on about the fellow who was destined to kill _me_,' Tom retorted.

'He doesn't know the whole Prophecy,' Harry replied weakly.

'He knew enough to try to kill you when you were a baby,' Tom reminded him. Harry sighed and placed his head in his hands; Tom was only telling him details he already knew, but he didn't like the idea of Voldemort knowing about Tom at all. He could understand how Fudge had felt, not wanting to believe that Voldemort had returned; Harry didn't want to accept the idea that his worst enemy would have already put capturing Tom on his to-do list. _But I need to accept it so I can protect him, _Harry reminded himself, squaring his shoulders.

'Er, Harry?' Tom prompted.

'Yeah?' Harry sighed. 'I'm sorry about blowing up at you,'

'That doesn't matter,' Tom shrugged. 'I… it's about my nightmares.'

Harry perked up at once. 'What about them?'

'It's just that now you've given me a Pensieve,' he said slowly, as if dreading what he was going to say next, 'I don't really have any reason to wait until we get to Hogwarts to show them to you. I was planning to borrow Dumbledore's, but now that I've got my own…'

Harry grinned ear to ear. 'Great! When can we get started?'

'This isn't exactly a pleasure for _me_, you know!' Tom said indignantly.

He felt ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Tom,' he said solemnly. 'I know it's not. Are you… are you sure you can do this?'

Tom looked away, but he nodded. 'I… I'll be fine.'

'I didn't know you could show dreams in a Pensieve,' Harry said.

'You can,' Tom responded, 'but you'll need to draw them out of me while I'm having a nightmare.'

'I have to wait until you have a nightmare?' Harry asked. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair; he didn't _want_ to let Tom have a nightmare. 'You're still sure?' he pressed.

'You want to know,' Tom sighed. 'And maybe you're right. Maybe it _will_ help. It's a well-documented successful method in dream therapy, though you're not exactly a trained professional. I'll probably settle back to sleep once you draw the nightmare out,' he added.

'Boys?'

They both turned to the door, which was opening to reveal Mrs. Weasley. 'Boys, dinner is ready.'

She left. 'Tonight,' Tom whispered to him. Harry gulped and nodded.

* * *

Harry couldn't help wondering as Tom set up the Pensieve and rambled off instructions that night if they might be making a mistake. Could Harry really help Tom banish the nightmares that had plagued him since before he came to Hogwarts? _Maybe Tom _should_ be seeing a professional,_ Harry thought worriedly. He hardly knew anything about Pensieves; what if he hurt Tom somehow? What if he didn't draw out his thoughts properly and ended up spewing his whole brain out? 

'That can't happen,' Tom snorted derisively. Harry blinked; he hadn't realized he'd been thinking aloud. 'Harry?'

Harry stopped his nervous pacing and faced Tom, who looked just as nerve-wracked as Harry felt. 'I… I wouldn't show this to anyone but you,' he said softly.

Harry walked over and hugged him tightly, his eyes squinted shut. 'Don't worry,' he whispered. 'I'll take care of you.' And he _would_, somehow. Then he let go and Tom, flushed, finished his preparations, while Harry continued pacing their room.

'There,' Tom said, 'the Pensieve is ready to receive memories, and I've shown you what to do. Are you ready?'

'Ready if you are,' Harry replied, fidgeting nervously. 'So now you just have to go to sleep…?'

'Yes,' Tom said. Then, grinning, he added, 'and that's going to be hard to do with you pacing a rut in the floorboards.'

'Sorry,' Harry said, abashed.

'You'll have to sit somewhere quietly while I nod off. I've already,' – Tom yawned – 'taken a sleeping potion from Mrs. Weasley to make it easier. She seemed overly glad to give it to me, I might add,' he smirked. _Right_, Harry thought wryly, _she'd hand over anything to be sure that we're not engaging in funny business._ Tom placed the Pensieve on the nightstand by the bed and crawled in. Harry turned away, knowing that Tom would have more trouble sleeping if he was being stared at. He grabbed one of Tom's books – one he'd bought from Diagon Alley, so complex that Harry couldn't possibly hope to understand it – and sat back down on the floor, cross-legged, waiting for Tom to sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up to loud moans. He blinked; had he fallen asleep on the floor? The book was in his lap; he had slept right where he sat. Tom was asleep also, and he wasn't sleeping well. _This is what we wanted, though, isn't it? Then why do I feel so guilty?_

Harry walked quickly over to the Pensieve by wandlight. Then, holding his wand to Tom's temple, he drew the thoughts from his head and dropped the silvery string into the Pensieve.

Harry waited, but Tom still tossed and turned. _The nightmares were supposed to stop when he drew them out, weren't they? What if I've done it wrong?_ Slightly panicked, Harry held Tom still and placed his wand to his temple again, drawing out another string and placing that into the Pensieve, as well. He stood waiting for any indication that the nightmares were ebbing away, but they continued just as violently as before. _One more time,_ he thought resolutely, holding Tom's head still with his free hand while he pulled one final strand out of Tom's mind.

It seemed to have done the trick. Tom's breathing steadied almost immediately, and his struggles with the sheets ceased. Feeling very tired himself, Harry scooted into bed and curled up around him.

'Harry?' Tom mumbled, still half-asleep.

'S'okay, Tom,' Harry murmured in his ear, his arms around Tom's chest. 'Sleep.'

Tom went back to sleep immediately. Harry, on the other hand, though he was desperately tired, lay awake in bed with his face nuzzled into Tom's soft hair for nearly an hour before he, too, drifted into darkness.

* * *

Harry woke up abruptly and found himself in the middle of humping Tom's arse as he slept. One arm was still wrapped around Tom's chest, but his other hand had strayed down to the front of Tom's shorts and was squeezing. Tom's hand, Harry realized, was holding it there. 

'Please, Harry,' Tom gasped. 'Don't stop.' His hand grabbed Harry's tightly and forced it down his boxers, not that Harry needed much persuading. He gripped Tom in his hand and continued moving, and before long he came in his shorts. He gripped Tom hard as he did so and Tom arched into him, a muted sob escaping his lips as he came.

Harry remained in that position, catching his breath, his sticky hand still around Tom's warm flesh. He found he didn't want to let go. Then he remembered the dreams that were sitting in Tom's Pensieve, and reluctantly withdrew his hand.

'Are you ready?' Harry asked him softly, running his clean hand through Tom's hair.

Tom turned around to face him, smirking. 'I might want to shower first, personally. I don't particularly want _other_ varieties of pearly strands in my brand new Pensieve.'

Harry blushed – though he was already so red in the face that it wasn't obvious – and smiled embarrassedly. 'Yes, that probably would be best.'

They both got out of bed and Harry poked his head out of the door. 'Coast's clear,' he murmured when he saw no one in the hallway. They scuttled across the hallway to the bathroom, Tom bringing clean robes and underpants for them both (Harry always forgot to). Tom settled the clothes by the bathroom sink while Harry turned on the shower (Tom always liked it a little cold in the mornings, but Harry liked it warm, so he settled for the middle as usual). He took off his sticky underpants and stepped in, soon followed by Tom.

Their morning's activities, while pleasant, weren't as active as usual, and Harry didn't feel quite satisfied. He indicated this to Tom by grabbing the bar of soap first (he usually let Tom soap up before him) and, getting a nice lather, rubbed Tom's shoulders. Tom hissed in appreciation – Harry sometimes thought he could hear words in Parseltongue if he listened closely enough – and stared at Harry through half-lidded eyes. Harry soaped his hands up more and rubbed each arm in turn, then ran his hands down Tom's soft, smooth back. After his back, Harry made his way up again – up his sides, into his armpits, then down his chest, stopping to scrub both nipples thoroughly with his thumbs. He didn't need to look down to see that Tom's desire was building; his eyes were closed, his head thrown back, and he issued low, throaty growls as Harry rubbed him. Leaving his nipples, Harry's hands caressed his chest, went down to his stomach, and looped around to his hips, holding them tightly for a moment out of habit before going down further. Harry's hands grabbed Tom's buttocks, kneading them and making Tom gasp. His hands moving more clinically, he made sure to soap up every inch of them, his fingers rubbing between the cheeks firmly. After pausing for more soap yet again, Harry crouched in the shower to get the backs of Tom's legs; the water that had been hitting Harry in the back the whole time hit Tom's chest abruptly, making him gasp in surprise. Harry finished washing Tom's legs, his fingers ghosting over his inner thighs and making him keen with need, before soaping up his feet. He made Tom raise one foot at a time and, kneeling in the shower now, rubbed each of the soles with the pads of his fingers. He held each to the spray in turn before setting it down so Tom wouldn't slip on soapy feet. Then, still kneeling, Harry soaped his hands up once more and massaged Tom's balls, making him groan and look down.

'Keep looking at me, Tom,' he said. He moved his hands over Tom firmly and rubbed in just the way he knew Tom liked; he was finished soon after, and Harry washed off the result. He was still staring at Harry as he leaned against the shower wall, the water gradually washing all the remaining soap from his figure as Harry quickly cleaned himself off with far less care than he had given to Tom. He was grabbing for the shampoo when Tom's hand reached out to grab his wrist. Giving Harry a look full of meaning, he sunk to his knees.

* * *

It could not be put off any longer – not that Harry wanted it to be, but he doubted the task ahead would be nearly as pleasurable as the shower had been. The sat down on the bed on their knees facing each other, the Pensieve between them. 'We could go down to eat first if you want, Tom,' Harry said. 

'No, I'd rather get it done with,' Tom replied. 'Are you ready?'

'Whenever you are,' Harry said.

Tom prodded the contents of the bowl with his wand and they began to swirl. Harry couldn't see much from his angle and was leaning in to take a better look when Tom said, 'Stick your face in the bowl, then.'

Harry leaned in, closed his eyes, and took a great gulp of air before plunging his face into the Pensieve.

Reality twisted around him in a familiar way – he had already visited other people's memories in a Pensieve several times, and it seemed that dreams were not any different – and then found himself standing in the middle of a large, sparse room with dingy windows. It was raining outside, and there were many children crowding at the few toys there were, jockeying for a turn with them.

'Where –'

'The orphanage,' Tom said gruffly. Harry jumped and turned to look at Tom beside him.

Harry looked around. It wasn't a very pleasant scene, but it didn't seem like much of a nightmare, either. 'This is your nightmare?' he asked tentatively.

'You didn't draw out my nightmares, exactly,' Tom said dryly. 'You only drew out the memories from which they are comprised. I only have vague ideas of what the nightmares are when I wake up; otherwise, I'd have just drawn out the memories instead of going to all the trouble of having you take them while the nightmares occurred.'

Harry could barely hear Tom over the loudness of the children in the room and he didn't understand entirely, but he took it to mean that this wasn't the part that made Tom scream at night. Then, suddenly, the noise quieted to whispers as several adults entered the room. A few of them looked as though they worked there, for they were glaring at the children to make them settle down. Two of the adults – a man and a woman – were dressed more colorfully than the others, and were looking down at the children with sadness instead of anger, the man holding his wife closely.

The man was an overweight, mustached, bearded fellow whose appearance reminded Harry of a slightly taller, slightly thinner version of his Uncle Vernon. The woman he was holding was also of a stocky build, and had flaming red hair and tears rimming her eyes; she looked a great deal like Mrs. Weasley.

The woman collected herself and pulled away from her husband, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the whisper-filled room, the whispers stilling wherever her gaze fell. Harry looked over to Tom and saw that his eyes, like the eyes of all of the children, were on her.

'Line up, children!' called a voice from the entrance; it was coming from a gruff-looking, unpleasant-sounding man who had been one of those glaring at the children before. Immediately, the children scattered from the toys and lined up by the back wall. Harry counted around forty of them, all lined up according to height and standing ramrod straight.

The woman walked down the line, smiling broadly at the younger children, who all stood even taller, nearly on tiptoe, trying to catch her eye. At last, a couple of children from the end, she stopped dead, staring.

Harry walked around to try to get a closer look; he could hear Tom following. The boy she was looking at was very young, no more than four or five. He had dark black hair and bright green eyes that were straining up to the woman's face.

'You?' Harry whispered.

'Yes,' Tom said softly.

'You have his eyes,' the woman said, quiet as a whisper as she stared down at Tom. Her own eyes were filling with tears again, but she was smiling. 'Come here.'

'Disassemble!' said the gruff man. All the other children went back quickly to their toys, but the atmosphere was much more subdued than before. Tom had walked up until he was standing toe to toe with the woman; she took his hand, so small, in hers, and led him away.

The scene changed abruptly, making Harry's head spin a moment. They were outside, and the sky was bright and clear. The woman was sitting on a park bench, and Tom was on her lap, and she had gathered him close to her in her arms. His head was leaning against her chest, and as Harry moved forward he saw a smile that he'd never seen on the face of the Tom from his time; it was a smile of delirious, innocent bliss.

'You're so very much like him,' she smiled, and she would have looked nearly as happy as Tom was if it weren't for the tears welling up in her eyes. 'The only difference is your hair. He had red hair, like me,' she whispered, running one hand through his hair as she spoke.

Tom seemed to be barely hearing her; his face was filled with adoration, his eyes seeing nothing but her. 'You're such a beautiful child,' she murmured. Then she pressed him so hard against her chest that Harry would have thought it might hurt, but Tom didn't seem even briefly phased by it.

'Her name was Elizabeth,' Tom – the older Tom – said from Harry's side. 'She had lost her son in an accident.'

Harry turned back to the younger Tom, who was looking up into the woman's face. 'Am I going to go home with you?' the little voice asked. Harry heard Tom's breath hitch beside him.

For the first time the woman – Elizabeth – turned away from Tom; she looked at the man who had gone into the orphanage with her, presumably her husband, who was staring at a small, dreary pond far off. She bit her lip. 'We'll see. Not today,' she replied. She let go of him, putting him down on the bench beside her and pressing her skirt flat with her hands, her chest rising and falling irregularly.

The scene changed again. Harry could tell by the dank condition of the walls that they were back in the orphanage. The woman was sitting on a rickety-looking wooden chair, her husband on another chair beside her, staring at young Tom, who was once again curled up in the woman's arms. 'Do you swim, boy?' he asked abruptly.

'No, sir,' Tom said, in barely more than a whisper. The woman leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Tom's head. 'But I could learn if you wanted me to.'

'I was scared of him,' Tom whispered to Harry's right. 'I knew if he liked me I'd get to go home with them.'

The scene altered several times more; each time involved Tom being cuddled and adored by the woman and soaking up every bit of it like a flower being rained on after a long drought, and the man staring at him glumly, uneasily.

'I didn't like the man after a while,' Tom put in. 'I wanted him to fly… fly away, and leave me with Elizabeth.'

They were back in the park again. Birds were chirping all around them. 'Elizabeth, it's time to go,' the man said, striding over.

'Do we have to?' she asked pleadingly, looking down at the boy in her lap with all the affection and tears she had on the very first day.

'That's enough!' the man said loudly. Young Tom cringed and bit his lip. Harry could see something in his eyes; it reminded Harry of the few times he had seen Dumbledore angry. Tom scooted off the woman's lap, as if used to this now, and stared at the man.

And then something very strange happened. The man, while walking toward them, put his foot down and it did not touch the ground. He took another step, as if not having noticed, and it stopped above the ground as well, further up. It was as though he was climbing invisible stairs. This time the man did take heed, and he looked down, peering around his feet. There was nothing under them.

Then he started floating, rising up into the air like a helium balloon. His eyes bulged and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. 'Elizabeth!' he yelled. Other people in the park turned around to look, and a pair of small girls shrieked.

'Richard!' the woman cried, standing up and running over to him. She was too late; he was rising faster now, and as she reached out her arm and jumped for him, the tips of her fingers barely skimmed the heel of his left shoe. There were nearly two dozen people running over, many shouting, and one woman fainted with fright. Harry looked over to Tom, who was sitting on the bench, staring at his feet.

The scene changed one more time. They were still in the park, but it was nightfall. The man was dropping to the ground, and Harry could see people in robes waving wands around, Obliviating the witnesses.

'That was the first time I saw wizards,' Tom mumbled. One of the wizards walked over to Tom and flicked his wand. 'They put a Memory Charm on me,' Tom realized. 'That's why I don't remember the flying.'

'It was that boy!' the man, Richard, was yelling. 'I know it was him, I know it! It had to be! He was staring at me with those funny eyes of his!'

'Richard, don't be silly, it couldn't have –' A wizard came up and Obliviated her.

'What on earth –' Then the man.

The two Obliviators who had handled the man and woman turned their heads to Tom, who had a glassy look in his eyes, but was staring back at them. 'Think it _was_ him?' one whispered to the other.

'Don't be stupid. He's too young for this kind of wild magic,' the other replied. 'It was probably just some young prankster – probably just turned seventeen and thought he'd have some fun with the Muggles.' They Apparated away, and little Tom blinked.

'She didn't come back,' Tom whispered. 'She never came back. I didn't remember this, but I remember her. I waited for weeks, and she never came back. I cried and cried.' His voice sounded far away. 'None of them ever came back. After her, I never expected them to. She was the hardest.'

'It wasn't fair of her,' Harry said softly. 'If she wasn't going to take you, she shouldn't have gotten your hopes up like that.'

'None of them ever bothered about _our_ feelings,' Tom whispered bitterly, shaking his head. 'At least it stopped when I got older. No one ever wanted the older ones.'

Harry waited, expecting that they'd leave the Pensieve, but the world flashed around them again, revealing something entirely different.

They were in a dark alley. Harry could see the brightness of daylight at the end of it over the hood and through the windows of a shiny, cream-colored parked car, but the alley itself swallowed all light. It was dirty, hot, and strewn with litter and angry voices.

'Aw, come on, weirdo! Do something funny! I wanna see!' said one boy up ahead near the end of the alley.

'Yeah, me too!' another boy jeered. Harry and Tom walked toward the voices.

There were four boys in the alley; three of them looked to be between twelve and fourteen. They were crowded around another boy, trapped in a dead end by a wire fence, who looked around nine. This, Harry realized, was Tom.

'I don't remember this, either,' the older Tom said.

'Master Randolf says he does funny things when he's scared,' the third and largest boy said slowly. 'So let's make him scared.'

'Leave me alone,' Tom said, his fingers grabbing at the wire behind him. The boys ignored him. The largest one advanced first and punched him in the stomach, making Tom double over and choke as the wind was knocked out of him. The second largest kicked him in the side, and he coughed out a strangled cry as the third stomped down on his back, knocking him flat to the ground.

'Stop it!' Harry cried.

'They can't hear you,' Tom reminded him coolly. 'I remember those boys, but I don't remember them ever giving me trouble like this. Besides, they all died in a –'

Harry heard the cream car behind him rev and turned around. The noise got louder, and there was a sudden screech of rubber as the car took off. Only it didn't go straight into the street; it reversed, and Harry heard several loud horns pounded in indignation as other cars were blocked off.

'That sound…' Tom said softly. 'That sound, and screams… my dreams…'

The car had turned around ninety degrees, and was now pointing into the alleyway. With as much fervor as it had used in reversing, it accelerated forward.

'I… I don't remember…'

Harry blinked, and as he did so the scene altered. They were standing right next to the memory version of Tom. There were three corpses on the ground – the three boys. The car was smoking; it was going to catch fire. 'Tom?' Harry whispered urgently. Young Tom was standing, stock still, his wide, unblinking eyes focused on the car, which looked as if it might explode at any moment. There was blood spattering his face and clothes.

'A hand…' Tom muttered hazily.

With a loud pop, a wizard Apparated at Tom's other side and grabbed his shoulder. With another pop, they were both gone.

Now they were in a clearing – where, Harry didn't know. The memory version of Tom was still standing wide-eyed in shock as he had at the scene of the accident. An auburn-haired wizard was kneeling in front of him, wiping at his face with a handkerchief.

'You can't Apparate with someone else, can you?' Harry asked.

'It's very advanced, most wizards couldn't,' Tom replied absently, stepping forward. Harry followed. They soon got close enough to see the wizard's face. It was, unmistakably, a younger Albus Dumbledore.

'I don't understand,' the older Tom said, looking as lost as his young counterpart.

'All will be well, little one,' Dumbledore was saying. Young Tom wasn't looking at him; he kept staring straight ahead, even as Dumbledore wiped the last trace of blood, a few millimeters away from his eye. Then he took out his wand, and the grime and blood on Tom's clothes was waved away.

'Little one?' Dumbledore whispered. He grabbed Tom's chin and bent it until Tom was staring him in the face. Tom blinked, as if only just seeing him. 'You're all right, little one. You're safe. It wasn't your fault. You won't even remember it soon.' Then, humorlessly, he added, 'The Ministry wouldn't believe that it was you, in any case. Wizards can be as deft at ignoring magic as Muggles when they want to be. You're lucky I was so near,' he said sadly. Tom stared at him blankly. 'Poor little one. Obliviate!'

The same glassy look dropped over Tom's eyes, and Dumbledore grabbed him by the shoulder again and Apparated away.  
_

* * *

Surely it's over now,_ Harry thought, feeling extremely shaken. _There can't possibly be any more_. Tom had been abandoned by a woman he was coming to love as a mother, affection swooping in and out of his life so destructively that he had learned to distrust and even hate it; then Tom had accidentally caused and borne witness to the violent deaths of three boys, only to be rescued from a similar fate by Albus Dumbledore. Shock, pain, loneliness, fear… _what more could there be?_

They were in a cellar. It was darker here even than in the alley, for there was no light at the end as there had been before, just darkness all around except for a woman in the center, her wand held up like a torch for light in one hand, and her other arm wrapped around a small bundle.

Harry got closer, and at first, when he saw the dark red hair and the flash of green in her eyes by wandlight, he thought he was looking at his own mother. But it couldn't be her; she would have no place in Tom's memories. He soon saw that her face was paler and less full, her eyes sharper and her hair straighter than Harry's mother's had been. She was wobbling from side to side, unsteady, and looked as if she were ill.

'What's this?' Harry asked him.

Tom had his arms wrapped around himself and was shaking his head quickly. 'I don't like this,' he said sharply. 'Why isn't it over yet?'

'Shh, baby,' the woman whispered, adjusting her bundle awkwardly while still trying to keep her wand up for light. 'Hush, little Tom.'

'You?' Harry gaped. It didn't make sense; they were going forward in time before. Why were they going back now?

Someone banged hard on the cellar door. The baby started crying. 'Shh, shh,' the woman said weakly, looking fearfully up at the door above. The door burst open and several men ran down the steps, the first two pointing flashlights at the woman and the other following closely on their heels.

'What do you want?' she cried, gripping the baby in both arms protectively, the light from her wand going out. 'I told you I would leave and you'd never see me again! Let us be, please!' The baby she was clutching howled. Harry realized how small it was – it was no more than a newborn.

The two men with flashlights, who were large and bulky, only sneered at her. The man in back walked forward furiously, and as he came into the light, Harry realized that this could be no one other than Tom Riddle, Sr. He looked much like his son, though he didn't have Tom's green eyes. '_You_ may leave, scum, but I will not allow a heathen child with _my_ blood to be raised to worship the likes of Satan!'

'I do _not_ worship Satan!' the woman hissed, her eyes pleading with him. 'I _am_ witch, but it's not like that, it's –'

'Enough!' he bellowed. 'Leave the brat and you may live. Otherwise…' his voice trailed off, and one of the beefy men drew out an old handgun from his coat and cocked it.

'You would kill your own child?' she whispered, holding Tom close. He had gone silent again as if he, too, were feeling the tension of the moment. 'Please, Tom, stop! I won't let you take the baby! This is insane! You can't possibly be ser –'

Then, before she could possibly have drawn her wand to defend herself, a gunshot rang out. The baby squalled again immediately as his mother sank to her knees and then fell on the floor in a bleeding heap.

'No!' Tom cried, his voice hoarse. 'No, this isn't how it happened! This is a lie! This isn't how she died! This is all wrong!'

The elder Tom Riddle grabbed the sleeve of the large man who had shot her. 'Shoot the child, then take their bodies and have them incinerated,' he said loudly over the baby's wails. 'I'll say they both died in childbirth; the brat was only born a few hours ago and no one else will have seen it. No one else need ever know it ever drew breath,' Riddle spat. With that, he walked back up the stairs, leaving the thugs to clean up.

The man who had shot Tom's mother walked over and aimed the gun point-blank at the crying baby. _But he can't die!_

A shot rang out, but the baby continued to cry. The man who had shot at him, however, fell backward. Harry saw a bleeding wound in the middle of his forehead.

The other man opened and closed his mouth, his tongue wagging but no sound escaping his lips. 'Jimmy?' he said in terror, walking forward. He made a gurgling sound when he saw the state of his companion. He looked over to the baby with wide, horrified eyes, then back down at the dead man, and ran up the stairs and out of the cellar.

'This is insane,' Tom was muttering madly. 'This is impossible.'

But Harry realized what had transpired; it was much like what had happened to him, only instead of a curse rebounding, it was a bullet. _Voldemort's mother died to save him?_ It made sense, in an insane way; Voldemort had directed the killing curse at Harry when he was a baby, but it had bounced back, yet Voldemort hadn't died the way the Muggle man had. Voldemort had said some of his old experiments worked – that because of them he had managed to escape death that night – but what if it was simpler? What if it was the same old magic that had protected Harry?

Harry heard anxious footsteps above, woman's heels. Someone would find Tom; she would save him from the fate his father had planned for him. He could not touch Tom then, not if people knew he was alive. Perhaps she would be paid off to not mention his mother. It didn't matter, really, did it? It ended up the same: Tom in an orphanage, parentless, not knowing that his mother died to save him out of love, the very thing Voldemort would grow to despise above all. Harry was savagely glad that Tom Riddle had been killed; did Voldemort know, even now, just how much his father had deserved it?

They were abruptly drawn out of the Pensieve. It was over. 'Tom?' Harry whispered.

Tom was kneeling right where he had been when they had started, but was looking down at his lap, shaking with sobs. Harry placed the Pensieve aside and went to him, wrapping his arms around him. 'Tom, I'm so sorry,' Harry said, tears in his eyes as well.

He didn't respond; he just turned his head into Harry shoulder and continued to cry. Harry bit down on his own lip and held him, rocking gently, his vision watery.

Someone burst through the door. 'That's enough! You two get out here right –'

It was Mrs. Weasley, and she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the scene she had barged in on. 'I'll… I'll come back later,' she whispered, closing the door behind her. Harry didn't spare her another thought.

* * *

They stayed there, Tom in Harry's arms, for a least an hour. Tom stopped crying within a few minutes, but he still remained leaning into Harry for much longer, sniffling occasionally. Neither said another word. There were some things that there weren't words for in any language, and this was one of them. 

Mrs. Weasley didn't come back; no one opened the door for the rest of the day. They eventually shifted positions, Harry lying on his back on the bed and Tom's face buried in his chest. One of Harry's hands was in Tom's hair, and the other on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. Harry wondered, as the sun fell in the sky, whether Tom had fallen asleep – he was so still, but Harry didn't stop holding him.

Harry's brain had been deadened for some time after seeing the memories in the Pensieve, but it started up again quickly as he felt steady breaths escape Tom's lips. No wonder Tom had nightmares; being abandoned time after time, witnessing grisly murder, and losing his mother violently at the hands of his father, all memories locked up so tightly in his subconscious, all bottling up, each emphasizing the other, the pressure built up until they could escape when he slept. Harry's mind was racing with it, but he was so tired… he was hungry, but tired… he shut his eyes…

* * *

'The preparations are being made, I take it?' 

'Yes, master,' came a quivering voice.

'How long?' the hissing man demanded.

'Some… some time, my lord, but we all work tirelessly to ensure –'

'Have you found out where he came from yet? The boy?'

'N-no, master. Your spy at the _Prophet_ has interrogated the reporter woman; all she knows is that he is from another time, and that he shares some secret with Dumbledore, as you already know. He has not found out anything else yet.'

'And he is involved with Harry Potter,' the man said dryly. 'Useless,' he hissed. 'You're all useless. I want all our efforts focused, is that clear, Wormtail?'

'Y-yes, master…'  
**

* * *

DarkMarkLV:** Tom isn't very good at expressing his emotions, which I'm sure you've noticed :) More progress on that next chapter!

**akuma-river: **Seeing as there's only two chapters left (theoretically), it has to be soon, doesn't it? I suppose he's already had his 'WTF' moment off-camera, so to speak, but he's definitely still got questions.

**Enola: **Funny you would mention the spooning scene because that's the one that keeps coming to my mind, too. I'm not much of an artist, myself, but the mental picture is very sweet.

**Monique: **Hell, for all we know he did get it from vampires. He has to be rich, doesn't he? Running a militaristic rebellion costs _galleons_, you know. A penniless nobody doesn't bring the wizarding world to its knees and drowning prospective Death Eaters in booze at recruitment rallies is expensive ;)


	26. A Series of Unfortunate Events

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. Lord Voldemort is a very bad man.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M.  
**Author's Note:** Stormy last night, power went out, couldn't post. The fates are against me, it seems. Hmm… isn't it amazing how it takes me twenty-five chapters to get through four months, and then one chapter to get through... five? Wow. Go pacing… Yes, we have reached that magical time where the Tom/Harry relationship is where it is supposed to be, which means the only thing left to do is for Voldemort to be naughty (what kind of Harry Potter fic doesn't have that?). Have fun reading the almost last chapter! Yup, only one more to go, ladies and gents!

**Chapter Twenty-Six: A Series of Unfortunate Events**

Harry gasped loudly as his eyes snapped open. His scar burned. He had forgotten to clear his mind before sleeping, and had witnessed Lord Voldemort plotting. _At least it wasn't a first-person view, though,_ he thought with relief. Occlumency had protected him that far.

He had to admit that he was glad he had allowed himself to get such a glimpse of Lord Voldemort. Voldemort was making preparations for… something… some plan… and he was talking about Tom, whose head was still resting on his chest, assuredly sleeping now.

Harry knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon, so he gently lifted Tom's head from his chest and grabbed a pillow to lay it on. Disentangling their limbs took more time, but he managed to extricate himself without waking the sleeping boy. The memories he had witnessed came back to him as he watched Tom sleep. _Love you, Tom._

The thought startled him so much that he shuddered. He realized it should not surprise him; Dumbledore had mentioned love, and Harry knew, deep down, that Dumbledore hadn't used the word flippantly. He _did_ love Tom; it had come on so gradually that he had hardly noticed at first. There was not one single moment he could pin down as the point when caring turned into something more, but it had, and there it was, a feeling burgeoning in his chest as he watched Tom's still form in the dark room.

Harry's stomach growled so loudly that he looked at Tom in panic, expecting him to wake up, but he did not. They hadn't eaten all day. _May as well sneak down and grab some food,_ he decided. He walked slowly across the room, opened the door, and closed it with a short, quiet click. When he heard voices carrying up from downstairs, he quickened his pace as he walked to the kitchen.

When the kitchen door swung open, Harry saw Ron and Hermione sitting next to each other near the door. Their discussion had ceased when he came in. 'Sorry, am I interrupting?' Harry said.

'Harry, where have you been all day?' Hermione hissed. 'What happened? Mrs. Weasley went up to your room in the afternoon looking furious and then came down telling us not to bother you.'

'Tom and I were talking,' Harry replied. 'It got a little intense.'

'There's some leftovers for you over there,' Ron indicated with his thumb.

'Thanks.'

Harry sat down and began eating ravenously while Ron and Hermione stared. Finally, Ron said, 'So, uh, when's the wedding?'

Harry looked up at him with raised eyebrows. 'Wedding?'

'Ron!' Hermione scolded, elbowing him in the side. 'Really, Harry, it's not our business, but you do spend an awful lot of time with him.'

'Do you mind?' Harry asked, honestly concerned. 'It's not like I want to lose you as friends…'

'I think it's hard,' Hermione said, without bitterness but with a distinct longing in her voice, 'for friendships to stay the same forever. It's only natural for a significant other to become more important to you than we are. Of course we're still friends, Harry, but this changes things.'

'And you two are more than friends now,' Harry pointed out.

Ron and Hermione both blushed. 'Why are you blushing?' Harry asked with a trace of annoyance in his voice. 'It's stupid. I don't see why you don't let everyone know about the two of you like Tom and I have.'

'She's not _your_ mum,' Ron grumbled.

This comment made Harry angry. Perhaps it was because Mrs. Weasley had left him and Tom alone that day and he was feeling tender toward her for that, or maybe it was because he knew how much he would give to have a mother like her and how much Tom had ached for one. 'She likes Hermione!' Harry protested. 'She's not your enemy, Ron. Grow up.' He stood up from the table, and Hermione and Ron both looked at him in shock. 'Stop being children. You've known each other for years and you know you're great for each other. Why beat around the bush if you know you're in love? For all you know, one or both of you could drop dead tomorrow, and _then_ where would you be? Wouldn't you regret this… this…'

'Timidity?' Hermione squeaked.

'Yeah, that's it – timidity. I've had to watch the pair of you dancing around each other since at least fourth year. Couldn't you at least make some kind of schedule for when you intend to get married and have ten kids? At least it won't be front-page news,' he grumbled.

'Harry!' Ron choked.

'Never mind,' Harry sighed, sitting down again and putting his head in his hands. 'I'm sorry. It's not my place to rush you. It's just that you both drive me crazy.'

'It's a private matter, Harry,' Hermione said gently.

'Sorry,' he muttered.

'Nah,' Ron grinned. 'Don't be. You're right, even if it's none of your business. I should tell mum. Even if she kills me, it'll take some heat off you and Tom.'

'Ron!' Hermione gasped.

'Hermione, you're not really worried about mum, are you? She'll be thrilled. She loves you, and so do I.'

Hermione went teary-eyed. 'Ron,' she smiled happily. 'I… I love you, too.'

'I'll just sod off, then, shall I?'

'Yeah, mate, that would be great.'

Harry put his dishes on the counter and walked out of the room.

* * *

The visit to Grimmauld Place had been positive in many ways. Harry had finally opened up about the Prophecy to Tom; Tom, while still struggling with the memories that had come back to him, did not have nightmares night after night anymore, and Harry knew he would gradually come to terms with what he had seen. He hadn't cried again, but he would go very quiet; Harry was always there with him, though, and he'd draw him out eventually to talk. Ron and Hermione had spoken to Ron's mum, and Ron was right – Mrs. Weasley was very happy with the match – and the two of them were no longer so timid of holding hands or whispering intimately to each other. Harry was almost as happy for him as he was for himself. 

The journey back to Hogwarts was pleasant on all sides; Tom would occasionally dip into reticence, but Harry knew he was feeling better and that going over his thoughts in his Pensieve was helping, and he managed to snap him out of any dark moments with a well-placed word or a hand on his shoulder. _He just needs to know someone cares about him,_ Harry thought protectively. _He just needs to see that he's not alone and that I'm not going to leave him, no matter what our history or future may be._ He chuckled at his own sentimental thoughts, knowing that if he said any of it to Tom he'd get scolded for being gushy. _But he'd be smiling while he told me off, _Harry grinned to himself. Tom still wasn't entirely comfortable about emotions, but Harry had managed to drag an 'I love you,' out of him through intense tickling.

Of course, not everyone was as happy as Harry.

'Blimey, Harry, what're yeh thinkin'? At first I just thought it was Rita Skeeter spreadin' her lies again, but now yer saying yeh –'

'Yes, Hagrid,' Harry cut in, putting down his tea. Hagrid had just returned from his mission for Dumbledore, and this was the first time Harry had been to visit him in his hut that school year because of Tom, and they were already arguing. 'I love him. I don't expect you to ever like him or forgive him for what he did to you –'

'And I never will!'

'– but that doesn't change my feelings for him.'

Hagrid gave up remarkably quickly after that. 'Well, Harry, if he makes yeh happy, then I'll try ter accept it. Dumbledore seems ter think it's all right an' all. But if tha' little –'

'Hagrid,' Harry warned.

Hagrid sighed. 'Right. Well, if he does cause yeh any trouble, yeh just come ter me, an' I'll take care of him for yeh.'

He smiled. 'Thanks, Hagrid. I'll keep that in mind.' _Or not._

* * *

The day-to-day lives of the denizens of Hogwarts were affected very little by the less than shocking announcement that Harry and Tom were officially an item, as were Hermione and Ron – Harry wasn't the only one who had seen that coming for years. There were a few nasty jokes from the Slytherins, but Harry found that he could ignore them easily, especially when Tom took such pleasure in setting Malfoy's robes on fire and blaming it on Malfoy spilling Firetongue Powder on himself. He let Tom get revenge for all of them since he thrived on such conflict and was always able to escape punishment in that slippery way of his. _Too clever by half_, Harry thought. 

Tom hardly mentioned the subjects of his old nightmares any more. He slept peacefully every night; there were some nights when Harry found himself envying him. Harry, taking fewer classes than Tom, found himself bogged down by work as exams drew nearer and often wasn't finished until well after midnight. Tom helped where he could, but the simple fact was that Harry just wasn't as smart as Tom, so he had to work harder.

Tom was at least spending his free time on less disturbing subjects than the Dark Arts, to Harry's immense relief – and curiosity. That wasn't to say he didn't still read more than his fair share in the subject, but Harry had discovered a surprising amount of the books he read to be about tamer things like Divination. 'You'd be surprised,' Tom said, 'at what a wealth of material has been written on the subject since my day. Divination sources can also have a lot to say about Time Magic, which I find myself bizarrely interested in,' he smirked. Tom still hadn't found out anything about why or how he was there, but Harry, personally, didn't care in the slightest about the whys anymore. He was so deliriously happy that Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas had taken to making gagging motions when he wasn't looking – not that Harry minded, since he knew neither of them meant it seriously.

The only real issue that had sprouted up with his roommates had been solved by Tom gagging himself with his pillow at particular moments at Harry's polite suggestion. Harry still wasn't sure why Seamus, Dean and Neville had brought this concern up with _him_ instead of Tom; he thought it might have something to do with the fact that Neville had borne weekly witness to the horrors Tom could inflict on Draco Malfoy and probably didn't feel comfortable with the idea of ordering him around personally. Other than that, they hadn't been bothered about having two homosexual roommates – though none of them were too keen to walk around without pants on in the dorm around either of them, which was fine by Harry, because he didn't much like the idea of Tom seeing them.

Tom and Harry's relationship operated smoothly and joyfully until mid-February, at which time their differences of temperament were brought to the fore by the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

Harry was flying down to the pitch with the Snitch in his left hand to the excited shouts of the Gryffindor side. Tom was flying down casually nearby, giving him the thumbs-up and grinning. The noise of the crowd dimmed in his ears as Harry watched him; Tom was giving him an alarmed look now, but Harry didn't know why. 'You're going to hit the ground!' Tom yelled; Harry looked away from him and saw that he was very close to the ground and going very fast; he pulled up just in time, blushing slightly with embarrassment at his distraction. No one else had noticed, at least, though it was bad enough for Tom to be walking toward him, shaking his head.

Someone tapped Harry's shoulder from behind him. Harry jumped and turned around; there was a small man wearing a bowler hat and clipboard smiling at him. 'Mr. Potter,' the man said cheerfully. 'That was a fine bit of flying I just witnessed. You're a superb Seeker. Best I've seen since Viktor Krum, and believe me,' – the man chuckled – 'I've seen quite a few.' His eyes flew up to Harry's scar, and Harry flattened his fringe out of habit.

'Thanks,' Harry said. He looked around and noticed the rest of the team keeping their distance. The cheering had quieted down, too.

'Could we go somewhere private to talk, perhaps?' the man asked. 'Name's Wilson, Horace Wilson, by the way,' he added, shaking Harry's hand and leading him away with a slight pressure on his back.

'Tell me, Mr. Potter – can I call you Harry? – Harry, have you ever considered a career in the League?'

They spoke for a half hour. The man was a recruiter for the British League, and what he had seen of Harry's Seeking ability had made an impression on him. He gave Harry several forms to fill out if he was interested and a wizarding sort of business card that shouted out phrases like 'Reach for the stars!' and 'Be famous!' That last phrase didn't sit well with Harry, but other aspects of what he had heard definitely did. 'You'd be traveling over all of England,' the man had said, 'and even the world! You'd be staying at the best hotels, meeting new people, and spending most of your days flying! You say the word, Mr. Potter, and it's all yours.' Harry didn't know what could possibly be more fun than all that, and he was whistling to himself happily as he entered the common room.

The uproar was even greater than it usually was after Gryffindor won a Quidditch match. It sounded as if the whole of the House had shown up and was clapping, shouting and cat-calling all at once. Ron grabbed him on the shoulders, beaming. 'You got recruited! You got recruited! You're going to be a professional Quidditch player, Harry!'

Harry beamed back at him, and Ron led him to a chair, where everyone gathered round to hear exactly what the recruiter had said, word for word, which was difficult when they were stuffing Butterbeer, pastries and Honeydukes chocolate into his hands. They had him so well distracted, in fact, that he didn't even realize who was missing for a full hour.

'Where's Tom?' Harry asked.

Ron blinked. 'Isn't he here?' He looked around, but he couldn't see him any more than Harry could. 'Maybe he's just got homework to do,' Ron shrugged.

'Yeah,' Harry said, trying to force the idea into his brain, but it just wouldn't stick down. 'Yeah, you must be right.'

Harry convinced – or deluded – himself into thinking this for another half hour until he was full to bursting with sweets and excitement. He imagined himself making it onto the English national team, playing in the World Cup, catching the Snitch, cheers erupting around him… The others built on his thoughts by giving them voice, making preorders for Harry Potter figurines and arguing with each other over which Quidditch team Harry should join. Ron swore he would attend every game Harry played, even if he had to go to Lithuania. Seamus was begging him to let him into the legendary parties he had heard of ('And they even get Veela dancers sometimes after really important games,' Seamus said blissfully.)

Then the portrait hole opened and the only Gryffindor not already celebrating returned with a pile of books in his arms. 'Tom,' Harry shouted. 'Hey, Tom, come over here, you're missing the party! Put those books down, why don't you?'

Tom looked toward him, taking in the scene of people crowded around Harry with Butterbeer and snacks, all relaxed and laughing, with a look of such loathing that Harry nearly slid out of his seat at the sight. The room quieted at once, and Harry was reminded of the atmosphere when Snape walked into his classroom for lessons. Then Tom turned away and walked up the stairs, straight-backed and regal even with all the books he was carrying.

People slowly started talking again, but the laughter was more forced than before – Tom wasn't Snape, he was a Dementor, and he had sucked Harry's happiness away most efficiently. 'Don't worry, Harry,' Hermione whispered anxiously. 'I'm sure Tom wasn't really so mad at you, he's probably just had a long night studying. I know what that's like.'

'He could at least pretend not to be jealous,' Ron said loudly. Several people nodded in agreement.

'He's not jealous,' Harry grunted. The mere idea of Tom being jealous of him was insane. Hermione seemed to agree, for she gave Ron a quelling look of disapproval.

Harry found that the butter tarts he'd had weren't sitting too well with him now, and he refused all other food and drink offered to him. He slouched in his seat, and as the party continued around him, growing slowly back into the fervor it had been before Tom's arrival, Harry grew increasingly tired of it. 'I'm going upstairs,' He muttered to Ron abruptly, walking away too quickly for anyone to protest or block his way.

When he reached the dormitory, his eyes fell immediately onto Tom's closed curtains. 'Tom?' he said. No answer. 'Tom, talk to me,' he pleaded.

The curtains open, and Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge. 'Are you finished fantasizing now? Ready to wake up to reality?' he hissed, snapping his fingers twice.

'What are you talking about?' Harry asked defiantly.

'Wake up, Harry,' Tom sighed in exasperation. 'You're not seriously considering becoming a Quidditch jock, spending half your life riding around with a piece of wood that doesn't belong to _me_ between your legs, surely?' he smirked.

'Oh, very clever, Tom,' Harry snapped. 'Did you rehearse that?' Tom's face flushed, and his mouth opened slightly to protest, but Harry cut him off. 'I don't know what this is about, but I'd appreciate it if you could stop being a prat and we could just get to the make-up sex.'

Harry knew as soon as they had left his mouth that these were not the right words to say. 'So it hasn't occurred to you,' Tom spat out, 'that Lord Voldemort is unlikely to let you sail around the world on a broomstick chasing little golden balls around? It hasn't _occurred_ to you that he's likely to attack you any time he can – likely to hex you right off your broom?'

'You're just jealous,' Harry growled, his previous assertion that this argument was inane flying out of his head. 'You hate it that I'm better at something than you are, don't you?'

'Don't be an idiot!' Tom shouted. 'As if I'd ever be jealous of _you_! As if I'd want my brain to move slower than my broomstick!'

'I'd rather be an idiot than be like you!' Harry yelled, reason gone completely from his mind.

'As if _I'm _going to spend the rest of my life with an idiot Quidditch player who's too stupid to see danger staring him in the face!' Tom hissed.

'Oh yeah? Well, I'm not too chuffed to hang around with an unlovable murdering snake!'

He waited for Tom's response, but no more words came. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and Tom's face turned down to the floor, his fists clenching and unclenching.

Tom walked so fast past Harry he was nearly running. Harry grabbed his arm, but Tom pulled it away heatedly and walked through the door, slamming it in Harry's face. Harry's ire came back full force, and he threw the door open, walking back down the stairs. 'I'm not finished with you!' he yelled, running after Tom's back. 'I'm tired of your moody Slytherin attitude! Come back here and –'

Harry had reached the foot of the stairs, and Tom was climbing through the portrait hole. The common room was still full to bursting, and all eyes were on them. In the moment that Harry took to look back at the staring people, Tom disappeared.

'What was _that_ all about?' Hermione demanded angrily, her cheeks flushed.

'Ouch, Harry. You called him a Slytherin,' Dean cringed.

'He was acting like a prat,' Ron mumbled.

'You should go after him!' Ginny said, her voice sounding a little panicked.

'Let him go,' Harry growled. There were tears building at the corner of his eyes, and he wiped them away in frustration. _Idiot Quidditch player, am I? If he doesn't want to be with me, fine!_

Hermione walked over and grabbed Harry forcefully by the arm, steering him away from the onlookers and into her own dorm room. She shut the door behind them. 'What were you thinking?' she cried. 'What could he have _possibly_ said to deserve all that?'

'He called me an idiot Quidditch player and said he didn't want us to be together anymore!' Harry snapped, wiping his eyes again.

'So you just walked into the room and he said he wanted to break up with you because you were stupid and you play Quidditch?' she hissed.

'No,' Harry grunted. Tom already _knew_ all that, after all, and he had never minded before. 'He… he told me to wake up, told me to face reality.'

'You mean about Quidditch?' Hermione said. 'You mean he told you the truth?'

'What _truth_?'

'Harry,' Hermione said sadly. 'You know you can't play Quidditch. It's not fair, but… you can't.'

Harry looked away. 'Couldn't have put it like that, though, could he? Couldn't say it nicely.' Hermione stayed silent. 'He was frustrated with me,' Harry whispered, already understanding the reason for Tom's surliness. 'Thought I was being stupid even thinking about it. He was right.'

'And so you yelled at him?' Hermione prodded disapprovingly.

Harry nodded, his eyes closed. 'Damn it, Hermione, I called him… I said some awful things. Worse than the Slytherin bit you heard.'

'I can't imagine,' she said dryly.

'I've got to go after him,' Harry said, opening the door and striding back to the common room.

No one tried to stop him going to the portrait hole. When he did, however, it wouldn't open. 'What are you _doing_?' he growled. 'Let me out!'

Just then, a voice boomed into the common room. 'Attention all students!'

It was Dumbledore. 'You are hereby locked into your respective dormitories until further notice. All students outside their dormitories, please go back to them immediately. I repeat, you are hereby…'

'No!' Harry screeched. 'I have to get out!'

'Harry,' Hermione whispered in his ear. 'The Map! You can find out where he is, and maybe we'll see what's going on!'

Harry turned to her, nodded through teary eyes, and ran upstairs.

* * *

Tom could barely see where he was going through the tears blurring his vision, but he knew the way out of the castle well enough to get out blindly. It was one of the few times that he just couldn't think; the weight of his thoughts was too great a burden for his mind to bear. He kept running through corridors and down stairs, encountering nothing and no one, not even Peeves. He thought he heard a booming voice telling him to go back and thought he must be going mad. Finally, he reached the doors and flung them open, racing toward the Forbidden Forest as fast as his legs could carry him.

* * *

As Harry rifled through his belongings to find the Marauder's Map, he was eventually joined by Ron, Hermione, Dean, Neville, Seamus, and Ginny. He found the Map and then, saying 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good!' as quickly as possible, Hogwarts appeared on the parchment. Harry began scanning it desperately for traces of Tom, the others looking over his shoulder. 

'There!' Harry said. Tom was moving quickly down a staircase, _away_ from Gryffindor Tower. 'What's he thinking?' Harry cried. 'He should be coming back here!'

'Harry?' Hermione whispered, her voice sounding as desperate as he felt. 'Harry, that's not Tom Maxwell.'

'Huh?'

Then Harry realized, with growing horror, what the name on the parchment _was_: Tom Riddle. 'What the hell?' Ron demanded. 'That's not possible!'

'It is,' Ginny said softly.

'What are you all going on about?' the other three asked, confused as to what the problem was. 'Why's this Tom Riddle so important?'

'Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort!' Ron growled, forgetting to be fearful of the name in his shock and indignation. 'Harry, what –'

'Shut up!' Harry yelled. He couldn't deal with this right now; they didn't have the _time_. 'I swear I'll explain it later, but for now just believe me when I say _that's _the Tom we're looking for. When this is all over I swear I'll explain! Just ignore it for now.'

'Ignore it? How can we –'

'Ron, quiet!' Hermione hissed. They continued to watch the parchment. Tom was running out of Hogwarts and toward the Forest.

'Come on, Harry,' Dean growled. 'So your boyfriend's in a tizzy. Let's look at what the teachers are up to!'

'It's my map!' Harry argued. 'I'll look at what I _want_ to look at, thanks!'

'Harry, we really _should _try to figure out what's going on. Tom might be in danger,' Hermione reminded him.

'Fine, fine, everyone look for Dumbledore.'

'He's right there!' Neville exclaimed an instant later. 'They're all there,' he added in awe.

It was true. All the teachers were there, their names so crammed together on the map that they could barely be read. Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and the others were heading toward the very exit Tom had just run through, heading off at nearly a run themselves.

'What's going on?' Hermione wondered aloud.

'That's it,' Harry said decisively, handing Ron the Map. 'I'm getting out of here.'

* * *

Tom reached the edge of the forest and panted, exhausted from all the running. He fell to his knees and stayed there, staring into the Forbidden Forest with sad eyes. _What am I doing?_ Tom asked himself. _I can't leave. I have nowhere to go. But I can't stay here, not if Harry…_ Tom let out a choked sob and wiped the tears off his face.

* * *

They reached the portrait hole again. Ignoring the other students, they started pelting every spell they could think of at it to get it to open. Finally, Hermione said, 'Stand back!' and, whispering a long spell Harry hadn't heard before, she managed to get the portrait hole to open with agonizing slowness. 

'What was that?' Ron asked, impressed.

'A spell from one of Tom's books,' she sighed. 'No more questions. Let's go.'

They could hear voices behind them saying 'Wait!' and 'Where are you going?' but the portrait hole closed abruptly behind Neville, and their protests could no longer be heard.

* * *

He was shivering with cold. It was windy and the ground was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Tom wasn't wearing a cloak. _I should get back to the castle before I freeze to death_, he decided. _I could go talk to Dumbledore. _This thought comforted him more than he would have liked to admit. 

Then Tom heard voices behind him. He turned around and saw the entire staff of Hogwarts headed quickly in his direction. At the same moment, the trees rustled, and many beams of light shone through, growing brighter. Tom stood up.

* * *

They ran down the hall, Ron holding the Map and reading off what was happening as they went. 'Okay, now the teachers are out of the castle. Tom's still stopped by the edge of the forest, Harry,' he added, panting. He took another look. 'What the –' 

Ron stopped dead. The others kept running. 'Harry!' Ron yelled. They all turned around and came back the few feet it took to get to him. Ron's face was white. 'Lucius Malfoy's name just showed up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest… and there's Bellatrix Lestrange… Rabastan Lestrange… Rodolphus Lestrange… Walden Macnair… Antonin Dolohov…' then Ron's voice cracked. 'Tom Riddle – _another_ Tom Riddle.'

Harry turned away from Ron and ran faster, as fast as he could.

* * *

Cloaked figures were stepping out of the trees and Tom's eyes widened in surprise and fear. He reached into the pocket of his robes and it was only then that he realized, with mounting horror, that he didn't have his wand. He glanced behind him; the teachers were still coming his way, but the ones in front of him were just ten feet away, there was no way he could run… 

They stopped moving when they saw him, their wands giving off light in the darkness. 'Isn't this convenient?' the one in front says. 'Fate is with our Lord tonight, it seems.'

Tom took a step backward.

* * *

Ron had stopped giving commentary; they were running too fast. Harry's glasses were slipping down the sweat on his nose. They turned a corner and reached a long hall, and at the end were doors into the grounds.

* * *

More cloaked persons were coming from the Forbidden Forest, and the others stepped forward, making way. Tom counted at least two dozen. Whispers of his presence were spreading through the ranks, and the teachers were close, so close… Dumbledore was coming… 

The Death Eaters – for that was surely who they were – raised their wands, but did not attack him. They were pointing beyond him at the Hogwarts staff running forward.

The ranks parted. A man was coming through, and he could feel this man's eyes on him, staring into his own, and felt the same piercing pressure of Dumbledore's eyes, but these eyes were fiercer, more demanding. He turned his head, and the pressure ceased, but the man continued to walk forward. 'Bring him here,' the man said in a high-pitched, hissing voice. 'Keep him away from the battle.'

Hands were grabbing him – invisible, magical hands – pushing him forward, toward the man, their leader…

Tom found himself drawn behind the Death Eaters' ranks. One put him in a Full Body-Bind and he fell to the snowy ground, his eyes still wide open and fearful. The man who had spoken before came toward him. He pulled back his hood just as the sound of dozens of spells being shouted out filled the night.

* * *

They reached the door and pushed it open, springing forward out of it and continuing their sprint.

* * *

'Mulciber, Nott, watch my prize here,' the ugly snake-man indicated Tom, 'while I conclude matters with our dear friend Dumbledore.' The Death Eaters chuckled and moved to Tom, one on each side. _So that's Lord Voldemort, _Tom thought with disgust. _Gross. _

At that very moment three nearby Death Eaters were blasted back into the forest right over Tom's head. He couldn't see very well – he was half-buried in snow – but he thought he saw, out of the corner of an eye, the swish of Dumbledore's cloak.

'Dumbledore,' Voldemort hissed. Tom bit his lip and focused, hard, on escaping the Body Bind.

'You will leave, Tom,' Dumbledore shouted over the noisy duels around them.

'I have grown stronger than I was when last we met, Dumbledore!' Voldemort laughed.

'Magical strength is not what will win this battle,' Dumbledore replied loudly.

Then the spells began to fire, and Tom was nearly crying again with frustration. He couldn't hear what was being said; his ears were stuffed with snow and there was too much other noise from the Death Eaters dueling the teachers. He thought he heard a voice, far off, that sounded like Remus Lupin. _Reinforcements_, he thought with satisfaction.

Two bodies hit the ground beside Tom. _There goes my honor guard,_ he smirked. Tom worked harder than ever to free himself and, in one focused push, he managed to sit up. He could hear much more clearly now, though the strong wind was making him shake as it pushed his soaked robes into his skin.

* * *

Ron, Harry, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ginny reached the battle at almost the exact moment that a half-dozen others Apparated to the scene. Harry vaguely recalled that bit in _Hogwarts: A History_ that Hermione harped on about saying that this was impossible, but Harry had never been gladder that she was proven wrong, because Dementors were coming out of the forest now, and Lupin, Tonks and Moody already had Patronuses conjured to charge them back. He looked frantically around for Tom, but he couldn't see him through the Death Eaters and teachers and spells, all flying left and right. 

'Stupify!' Harry yelled, hitting a Death Eater who was attacking Professor McGonagall. She looked exhausted and bloody.

'Potter!' McGonagall screeched. 'Get out of here, boy!'

'I have to find Tom!' he shouted. He looked around; his companions were gone. They were already spread out fighting the massive amount of Death Eaters. The Dementors were being pushed back; none had yet left the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. They hovered on the border, darker than shadow, three silvery figures patrolling around them, refusing to let them pass.

'Dumbledore will –'

McGonagall fell to the ground. 'Stupify!' Harry yelled, catching the figure square in the chest. It staggered. 'Stupify!' he cried again, and this time the man fell to the ground, his Shield Charm broken.

The Professor was stirring. Harry hated to leave her, but he needed to find Tom.

And then, through a gap in the duels which were spreading themselves farther out across the grounds, Harry saw a side view of Voldemort, hurtling a beam of green light.

* * *

'Avada Kedavra!' Tom heard Voldemort yell. 

Dumbledore conjured what looked like an engorged lemon drop out of thin air. The curse hit it and it blasted open, chunks of it flying across the grounds. Dumbledore said another incantation and a tree leaped out of the forest. Its branches were wrapping around Voldemort…

Another spell. The tree snapped back to inanimate, its branches released him, and it was falling, falling on Dumbledore.

'Stupify!' someone yelled at the top of their lungs, approaching from behind Dumbledore. The spell hit the tree, which shuddered and moved back. Voldemort did not use a spell; he stepped out of the way, and the tree kept falling.

_It's going to hit me,_ Tom realized. He still couldn't move his legs – he hadn't been _trying_, he had been watching the battle – but now he tried hard, begged his legs to move – they seemed bound to the ground, he couldn't even drag them back quickly enough – and the tree fell faster and faster.

* * *

What happened next seemed to Harry to occur in slow motion. Dumbledore looked at him as Harry said the spell and ran to Dumbledore's side, and the tree began to fall backward onto Voldemort, but Voldemort just _sidestepped_ it, and then Harry caught a flash of dark hair, a boy seated on the ground, looking at the tree with wide-eyed panic. 'Tom, _move!_' Harry cried. But Tom was sitting there, struggling to move backward with his arms. 

'Conglacio!' Dumbledore's voice called. At the same time, another voice, sounding far-off in Harry's world, which consisted only of Tom and the tree at, said 'Avada Kedavra.'

The tree froze and shattered violently just before hitting the ground, pieces of ice flying across the battlefield. Tom was sitting there, shaken and covered in small ice chunks, but otherwise okay.

Green light blinded Harry's vision. He blinked, and it was over.

Dumbledore was falling; his half-moon spectacles were slipping down his crooked nose. He hit the ground, his fall broken by the snowy ground, and lay there, his eyes staring aimlessly up at the sky.

Albus Dumbledore was dead.  
**

* * *

TheSecretCharacter: **Enjoy Hawaii, and have fun reading HBP! I know I will!

**akuma-river:** No sequel planned :( That's not to say I'll never do one, but I don't intend to at the moment.

**Virginia Riddle-Malfoy:** Voldemort doesn't know, nor would he care if he did. He's incapable of feeling any more hatred towards his father and the rest of humanity, so a few more reasons to hate them wouldn't make much of an impact on him.

**ddtrunks77: **Perseverance, that's all it takes. I've been spending a _looooong_ time every day writing for over a month now because I really want to finish this, to get it out of my head where this story has been growing (or festering, depending on how you look at it) for months and months. I'm certainly not a professional writer, just a teenager with no life!

As for what Voldemort would do, he wouldn't care about his mother having died to save him that way. It would explain why he survived his own Avada Kedavra bouncing back on him, but he probably wouldn't even believe that was what saved him because the thought of none of his experiments being superior to his mother's love for him would simply be too sickening for him to wrap his evil mind around.

**ryuuta: **No, I believe that 'power the Dark Lord knows not' is love itself, which he disdains and is incapable of feeling for anyone.


	27. Separation

**Summary:** A thoroughly impossible freak accident transports our favorite attractive psychopath forward in time from 1942 to 1996. Harry Potter/Tom Riddle slash. The end (wow, how descriptive).  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, or any other people, places or objects that may appear in this humble work of fiction.  
**Warnings: **Possible spoilers up to the fifth book. M/M, obviously. Now rated M.  
**Author's Note:** The weather is still against me. It's kind of hard to write when the power keeps blinking off every fifteen minutes… well, this is the last chapter. I'm sad to see it end, but this is the way I planned it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I never could have had the willpower to keep going with this without you. Not that it's a chore, but it's time-consuming, and it's always nice to know my work is appreciated. I hope you enjoy the final installment! Farewell!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Separation**

Harry wanted to shout out in protest; he wanted to shake his head, to say that it was impossible, that Dumbledore _couldn't _be dead – but there he was, and Harry didn't have _time_ to protest, because Voldemort was turning his wand on _him_ now.

Voldemort cast a spell he couldn't hear, and he ducked. He needn't have done so, however; the spell did not hit him. Instead, it formed a narrow, silver-gold tunnel leading from the forest to the grounds behind him. Into the passage Voldemort had built floated a row of Dementors, moving quickly and silently over the ground and fanning out before the Patronuses could hem them in again. Others of the Dementors were coming toward Harry, however, and now he was trapped between them and Voldemort.

'Expecto patro-'

Harry couldn't finish the incantation; he was hit with a Silencing Charm. 'That will be all,' Voldemort sneered. The Dementors moved to grab Harry's arms, and he found himself too despairing to struggle. What was the point? Voldemort had won. Dumbledore was dead.

And then Harry looked to Tom, still sitting in the snow and staring at him, and he felt the despair being disintegrated in his chest. He struggled fiercely, now – _he had to help Tom_ – but the Dementors had managed to get a good grip on him with their icy hands, which were many times colder than the snow at Harry's feet, and dragged him kicking and screaming over to their master.

'It is a beautiful night, is it not, Harry?' said Voldemort softly, reaching out his hand and summoning Harry's wand from his fingers. Voldemort pocketed it. 'Mars shines brightly tonight, or so the centaurs said before we killed them. I wonder, if they are so clever at seeing the future, how they could have missed the minor detail of their own demise.'

Voldemort muttered and flicked his wand, and Harry found the Silencing Charm lifted. 'Just get it over with,' Harry spat. 'If you're going to kill me, at least have the kindness not to torture me with one of your long-winded speeches first.'

Voldemort looked at Harry with the same disgust Tom had earlier that evening. The battle raged around him, and yet part of Harry felt so guilty about what he had said to Tom that Voldemort's glare cowed him into silence.

'One would think,' Voldemort whispered, his soft voice carrying over all the screams and shouts around them, 'that you would be eager to hear me speak. After all, if I am talking to you, I am not killing you, am I?'

'Some of us aren't afraid of death,' Harry replied far more bravely than he actually felt.

'That is good for you, Potter, for you will be experiencing it soon enough.' Two more Dementors moved to flank Voldemort; he did not seem at all affected by their presence. 'Grab the boy,' he said sharply, indicating Tom. Harry looked around and saw that there were even more Dementors crowding around them. The two Voldemort had spoken to were pulling Tom to his feet and dragging him limply. Harry knew what he must be feeling, and wondered if he was hearing the voice of his mother in his head at that very moment, as Harry did when Dementors were near him. He could only hear her faintly at the moment, despite all the Dementors; another advantage of Occlumency was being able to close his mind, at least partially, to these outside influences. He couldn't close his scar to them, though; it was bursting with pain, but he pressed it back. Harry knew he had to stay calm.

Tom, on the other hand, despite his varied magical knowledge, did not know Occlumency, and he was looking very pale and faint. Harry gazed desperately at him as he approached, wishing he could protect Tom's mind, as well.

'Ah, yes, you care for him, don't you? Is that not the worst of ironies, Harry Potter?' Voldemort chuckled softly. 'I suppose I should congratulate myself on putting you so completely in my thrall.'

'I'm… not… you…' a tiny whisper spoke. Tom looked positively green, and he vomited near Voldemort's boot a moment later.

Voldemort sneered. 'Get away!' he hissed at the Dementors. They let go of Tom, and he immediately fell to the ground, narrowly missing falling face-first into his own puke. Voldemort raised his own wand and levitated Tom off the ground. Harry saw that his face had turned from green to grey.

'That's better, I hope? This will be more of a challenge if you're throwing up.'

Tom nodded weakly, his eyes closed and his head leaning to the side. 'I have a few questions for you,' Voldemort continued, his eyes boring into Tom.  
_

* * *

I'm going to die_, Tom thought, feeling himself blacking out due to the presence of the Dementors. Yet that voice, so unlike his own, was calling him to wakefulness. 'Y-yes,' he heard himself say.

'Open your eyes, child,' Voldemort whispered gently. He felt a scaly finger brush his chin and pull his head straight. There was a strong power of suggestion behind that voice, and Tom could not help but do as it asked.

'There, now, that's better,' Voldemort said, still gentle. 'You're going to answer some questions for me. If you lie,' he hissed, 'I will kill you where you stand.'

'Liar,' Tom said, almost feeling like laughing at such an ineffective threat after all he had seen this man do tonight. 'You won't kill me.'

'Awfully sure of ourselves, aren't we?' Voldemort laughed lightly.

'Yes,' Tom smiled back, '_we_ are.'

Voldemort's red, snake-slit eyes narrowed. 'Tell me how you came to be here,' he said.

_Stall stall stall…_ 'Accident,' he said simply. _Well, it's true._

'If I kill you,' he asked, apparently not caring any more than Harry did about how Tom got there, 'will I, myself, cease to exist?'

'Of course,' Tom replied, 'how could you not?'

Then, like a bucket of ice water falling over his face, those eyes pierced his, searching. 'Liar,' Voldemort breathed. He smirked. 'I would lie in your position, myself. No,' he continued, 'it seems that you are an entirely different entity from me now. Until you traveled to this time, we were one, and then,' he snapped his skeletal fingers, 'we split. That is the truth I see in your eyes, yes…'

_I'll have to learn Legilimency some day,_ Tom swore to himself in annoyance – although it seemed he already had.

'So harming you will not harm me. That is as it should be; you are far more useful to me this way.'

'How wonderful for you,' Tom said lazily.

'_Yes,_' Voldemort hissed. He turned his attention back to Harry. 'You see, Potter, with the help of your sweet _lover_, I will soon be free of you. His magic and mine are one and the same… identical…'

Voldemort ran a hand down Tom's freezing cold arm. Tom shuddered. 'Yes, perfect. This is precisely what I need. Your essence will give me more power than I have ever had before.' He stroked Tom's cheek reverently.

'Don't touch him!' Harry growled.

'Jealous, Potter? Tsk, tsk,' Voldemort said mockingly.

'He's not jealous,' Tom grumbled, turning his face away from Voldemort's hand and his disgusting, scaly fingers. 'He doesn't care two straws about me. I don't know where you got any _other_ idea.'

'Tom,' Harry sighed. 'I'm sorry, okay? Could we maybe discuss this _later_?'

'There won't _be_ a later,' Voldemort hissed.

'Fine, then! I'm sorry! I love you, and I'm sorry I said those things to you!' Harry shouted.

'How touching,' drawled Voldemort.

'Are you… do you mean it? Really?' Tom asked, his voice hopeful.

'Do you two need a moment alone?' Voldemort snapped. Tom almost smirked; he could imagine how little he would like not being the center of attention at his moment of triumph.

'Yes, I mean it,' Harry replied sharply, glaring at Voldemort.

'I'm sorry, too, Harry,' Tom said. 'I didn't mean to –'

'That's quite enough,' Voldemort deadpanned. 'As I was _saying_,' he said directly to Tom, his foul breath brushing across Tom's lips, 'you will die to further my power. You should be proud, Tom,' he whispered.

'Harry's right, you know,' said Tom conversationally, 'you really _do_ talk a bit much.'

Lord Voldemort scowled. He put his hand into his robes and withdrew a corked vial. 'Do you know what this is, Tom?' Voldemort asked.

Tom looked at the vial appraisingly. The color and consistency would be most commonly found in… 'Polyjuice Potion?' Tom asked.

'Yes,' Voldemort hissed, smiling obscenely. 'And here,' he continued, drawing something out of a pouch that looked like gray rubber, 'the flesh of a Dementor. I am going to become a Dementor of sorts. The Polyjuice won't turn me into a full Dementor, but it will give me the ability to suck your soul and seep the magic from your bones, and because we are the same person –'

'My soul, and my magic, will remain in you when the transformation is complete,' Tom concluded in a deadened voice, a vision of dawning horror creeping into his mind.

Voldemort smirked and uncorked the bottle. Tom heard a distant pounding noise coming from the Forest – or maybe it was just the pounding of his own veins…

* * *

Harry watched in horror as Voldemort put the flesh into the vial and drank it greedily. Then he watched as Voldemort transformed; he heard his bones creak in protest and saw his feet lift off the ground until he was hovering an inch or so off of it. His flesh became even more foul and decayed than usual, and Harry heard frightened choking noises escaping Tom's throat. 'No!' Harry yelled. He tried with all his might to break away from the Dementors, but it was no good. His head was pounding, pounding… 

And, when the transformation was complete, Harry watched Voldemort lean over Tom's face, not quite touch his lips, and breathe in deeply, and Harry screamed and screamed.

* * *

Tom would have screamed, but he could not emit any sound. Voldemort was sucking breaths out of Tom's mouth, he was _sucking his soul_. It felt like acid was burning his insides, like his lungs had exploded, and through all that he could feel tingling strands working their way up through his arms, and he wondered if that was what it felt like to have your magic stripped away, _stolen_. He was so scared, so scared… 

_It hurts…_

_Please, make it stop…_

He thought he could hear someone else screaming, far away, screaming… _Harry…_

_Harry, I'm sorry…_

Tears were streaming down his cheeks… His eyes closed once more, and he couldn't open them again…

_Harry, I'll miss you… I love you…_

With that thought, the pain stopped, and as love for Harry filled his chest, he could feel Voldemort shrink away.

* * *

And then it stopped. Harry's voice was hoarse. He watched as Voldemort fell back, coughing. Tom crumpled to the ground, no longer held up by magic, and lay very still. Voldemort dropped to his hands and knees and hacked, his neck convulsing rhythmically like Crookshanks coughing up a hairball. The pounding in Harry's head was getting louder – _why_ wasn't Occlumency keeping it away like it had before? – and then Harry heard the trees rustle. He looked up and toward them, and saw one of the taller ones fall down into another. Something was moving in the forest – something big. 

Voldemort's hacking seemed to be successful; a ball of pinkish light spread out of his mouth like chewing gum. It floated out over to Tom, spreading a warm glow over Tom's chest and settling inside him.

Harry saw an enormous foot appear out of the trees. Then he saw an enormous hand pushing back a tree in the way of its enormous face. Giants, about a dozen of them, were walking out of the Forbidden Forest.

_This is it,_ Harry thought grimly as one walked toward him and the two Dementors holding him still. Then the giant did something unexpected; it reached down, and Harry closed his eyes. But he soon felt the hands gripping his arms release, and the pressure building up in his mind from fighting the depression the Dementors brought on lessened. He opened his eyes, rubbed his sore arms, and looked up at the giant. It had picked up the two Dementors and was tossing them far across the grounds, one by one. _They're on our side! _

Voldemort was still half-collapsed on the ground. The guard of Dementors circling them was breaking ranks as they fled the giants, and Harry knew that this was his chance. He focused with all his might, reached his hand out toward Voldemort, and cried, 'Accio wand!'

At first he didn't think it was working, and was wondering if he'd have to bodily tackle Voldemort to get his wand back, but then a piece of wood began poking up slowly from Voldemort's pocket. Harry bit his lip and shut his eyes, thinking about just _how_ much he wanted his wand with him at that moment, and felt the familiar piece of holly fly into the palm of his hand.

Harry gripped his wand tightly and pointed it at the Dementor Voldemort, who was rising from the ground, now, and taking out his own wand. Harry focused, _hard_, on the look he had seen on Tom's face every night when their desire had ended and they were lying together in bed, the look that made Harry feel lightheaded, and only then, at that moment, did he truly understand that it had been a look not only of happiness, of fulfillment, but of _love_, and with that thought filling his heart with indescribable joy he produced the most beautiful, blindingly bright stag he had ever laid eyes on, and it charged Voldemort with ferocity.

The Dementor-Voldemort was thrown up by the stag's horns, his robes torn and tattered, and as he fell back down the stag butted him with its head, sending him flying several yards. The stag charged again, but Voldemort held up his wand, and with a loud pop, he Disapparated.

Harry ran over to Tom as the stag went off to charge more Dementors. He got down to the ground and shook Tom's shoulders, but he didn't wake. 'Come on, Tom, come on!' he yelled desperately. 'Wake _up_, you can't be dead, _please_ don't be dead –'

Then Harry was hit with a spell in the back and his vision went black.

* * *

'The loss of Dumbledore is tragic… terribly tragic… other casualties?' 

'Half the centaurs, gone… Filius and Minerva have been sent on to St. Mungo's… Elphias Doge, dead… Hestia Jones got the Kiss… not to mention extensive damage to the wards in the grounds… we're fortunate the giants arrived when they did.'

'Er, yes, about that –'

'And we are also fortunate that they have agreed to stay on to guard Hogwarts.'

'I really _don't _think –'

'I am certain that many of the students would not be allowed to _return_ with Dumbledore gone, were this not the case.'

'We'll see…'

Harry lay listening groggily, his eyelids still too heavy to open even if he wanted to. _Dumbledore is dead_, his head kept telling him, _Dumbledore is dead._ Did he even want to wake up to a world without Dumbledore?

_Tom_. The thought penetrated his skull like a centaur's arrow. His eyes shot open and he sat up in bed in a moment.

'Harry?' said a croaky voice beside him. Harry's head swiveled sharply and he saw Tom, red-eyed, staring at him in relief.

'Tom,' Harry said, his eyes closing as he took a steadying breath. 'Tom, you're okay!'

'Of course I'm okay,' Tom snorted. '_You _were the one who was slammed in the back by a fireball. Good thing Lupin was close by and managed to put it out.'

Now that Tom mentioned it, Harry's back was _extremely_ sore. He felt his chest and noticed the heavy bandages around his torso. 'The nurse needs to change the dressing once every hour and a half, so you can't leave yet,' Tom continued, 'or your back will start charring again.'

Harry smiled, but then his attention was caught once more by the voices outside the hospital wing. One sounded like Snape, but the other was unfamiliar.

'It's Professor Snape and the Minister of Magic having a polite row,' Tom said, noticing Harry's interest. 'The Minister doesn't trust the giants, but Snape is keen to ensure that they stay. Dumbledore is dead,' Tom continued out of the blue, his tone emotionless.

'I remember,' Harry replied softly.

'They haven't decided on when the funeral is yet,' Tom went on. 'Dumbledore bought me dress robes. I suppose I'll wear them then.'

Tom's voice was so devoid of inflection that it made Harry suspicious; even talking about the weather would have more feeling behind it. 'Tom, you don't have to hide from me,' Harry reminded him gently.

'Your friends didn't want me to see you,' Tom said, ignoring Harry's comment. 'They want an explanation for why my name showed up as Tom Riddle on the Marauder's Map, but the nurse is making me stay here to make sure I'm all right, so they couldn't stop me from waiting for you to wake up.'

'Don't worry, _I'll_ explain it to them.'

Tom looked down at his lap. 'You take too much upon yourself. I can explain. I'm not a coward.'

Harry reached out a hand and placed it on top of Tom's, which were curled together on his lap. 'But you don't _have_ to. I know you're no coward, Tom. You don't have to prove anything to me,' he said softly. 'Besides,' he added, a humorless smile creasing his face, 'it might not be safe for you to be in the same room with them until I've explained everything and made them promise not to hex you.'

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ron and Hermione showed up in the hospital wing. They both smiled widely at him, but gave Tom looks of suspicion. 'He hasn't hurt me all year,' Harry said edgily, 'so I don't see why he would now.' 

'You said you'd give us an explanation,' Hermione reminded him pointedly. 'The other boys are waiting for one, too. Ginny says _she_ knows what's going on, but she thought that you might want to be the one to tell us.'

'I'll tell you all together, how about that?' Harry replied, sitting up in bed and trying to get out of it.

'No, Harry!' Tom hissed. 'You have to stay in bed.'

'S'okay, mate, don't get up,' Seamus said, sneaking into the room. Neville and Dean followed. 'We're all here. So, is he You-Know-Who's nephew or something?'

'Er, Tom, do you have somewhere else to be?' Harry asked him, raising his eyebrows.

'Naturally,' Tom replied, 'but the nurse will have kittens when she finds out I'm gone, just to warn you.' With that, Tom edged around Harry's friends and out the door. When it clicked shut, Harry began his tale. As expected, once he had revealed that it _was_, indeed, Tom Riddle, Ron was keen on leaving to find him and kill him with his bare hands, but as the story continued – with Harry leaving out a few, more personal bits – they eventually calmed down, though Ron was still wearing a dark look.

'Do you seriously expect him to be a good boy, Harry?' Ron growled.

'He has been so far, except for attacking _Death Eaters_,' Harry replied defensively.

'Harry,' Hermione sighed. 'You can't expect us not to be worried. Are you sure he hasn't seduced you so he can… can…'

'If he was planning to off me, he's had plenty of opportunity, as I've been sleeping in his bed without my wand for months,' Harry said.

'Blimey, Harry!' Seamus said, his mouth hanging open. 'I don't feel comfortable sleeping in the same _room_ with him!'

'You'll have to _get_ comfortable,' Harry said acidly.

'Are you sure he'll still be so well-behaved with Dumbledore gone?' Neville asked seriously.

'Yeah, good question, Neville!' Ron said, thumping him on the back.

'Yes, he will,' Harry replied. 'Look, all I ask of you lot is not to say who he is and not to treat him any differently than before. He's still the same… well, okay, so he's not the same person, but he's still nice enough, even if he does have a vicious, vindictive, murderous streak.' Harry didn't think that he was making much of a case with that statement.

'He's a Slytherin!' Dean piped up. 'I say that's enough reason to chuck him out.' The others nodded fervently at this.

'Wasn't it _you_, Hermione, that was harping on about inter-house relations last year?' Harry retorted. Hermione flushed. 'So I happen to be having some inter-house relations with Slytherin that don't involve me beating up Malfoy. What's it to you? I'm not telling you not to watch out for him because that would insult your intelligence, but if you could not attack him unless he's going to attack you, that would be _great_,' Harry snarled.

'I say,' Ron snarled back, 'that he should be thrown to the Dementors.'

Harry was about to respond furiously, but there was a knock at the door, and Tom opened it slightly. 'Could I come back now? I'm supposed to take a potion the nurse left me,' he said meekly.

The sight of Tom at this moment had a deflating effect on the argument. It seemed that once they actually _saw_ the person who they were talking about murdering or chucking out, Harry's friends and fellow Gryffindors felt significantly more awkward. 'Uh, sure,' Seamus said, smiling guiltily.

As Tom went to his bed to take the potion sitting beside it, Dean whispered, 'It's not like he's _done _anything to us. Maybe Harry's right and he's harmless. _Dumbledore_ thought it was right to let him stay.'

The magic word – Dumbledore – had its desired effect. Even Ron, from the guilty, conflicted look on his face, realized that if they were to reveal Tom for who he was, Tom would have no one to protect him from the wrath of the Ministry, which is precisely what Dumbledore had wanted to protect him from, and it would be pretty rotten to argue with or overrule Dumbledore now that he was dead. 'Please,' Harry added quietly, after the guilt had settled in properly, 'if you could just keep his identity a secret and not hurt him… I mean, if _I_ can forgive him…' he reminded them. After all, if anyone had a right to hate Tom, it was Harry, though Ginny could make a fair enough case for herself.

'All right, Harry,' Hermione said stiffly after a few more moments.

Ron looked at Hermione, then his shoulders slumped. 'Okay, fine. Great.'

'As long as he doesn't hex me, I won't hex him,' Dean added.

'He's always been nice to me,' Neville said shyly, 'so I don't see why I wouldn't stick by him.'

'If everyone else agrees…' Seamus shrugged. 'I sure don't want to be the villain. But…er, you do _watch_ him every night, Harry? He won't hex us while we're sleeping?'

'No,' Tom's voice replied, setting the empty potion vial on the table, 'I promise I won't hex you unless you're wide awake. I'm only joking!' he added hastily as Ron and Seamus drew their wands.

'So he stays then,' Ron muttered. 'Watch out for yourself, Harry. If he harms one hair on your head…' Ron was holding his wand in his hand very tightly.

Harry glanced over at Tom, who was looking annoyed at being threatened, his lip curling into a sneer. Harry gave him a look that told him to keep his temper in check, and Tom, seeing it, choked down his anger and nodded slowly.

* * *

Dumbledore's funeral was a grand affair. It took place at Hogwarts so that all the students could go. The casket was open, so people could look at him if they wanted. Over half the students were in tears; Professor McGonagall was supposed to deliver a eulogy, but Harry didn't know how she would manage, as she had been crying into Professor Sprout's shoulder for a quarter of an hour. Even Malfoy, who hated Dumbledore, stayed quiet; he couldn't be too stupid to know that he'd have about sixteen different curses flying his way if he said a word against the Headmaster that day. Hermione was in tears, her face buried in Ron's chest. Ron, who Harry had never seen cry in his life, had tears welling up in his eyes. Ron's whole family was there, too, along with what seemed to be a good chunk of wizarding Britain. 

Tom stood beside Harry stiffly, straight-backed and proud, not a trace of emotion on his face. Harry knew that Tom and Dumbledore had experienced problems, but Dumbledore had had an extraordinary influence on Tom's life for a long time. Tom had only recently learned that Dumbledore had saved his life when he was a child and, despite the open animosity for the Headmaster that Tom had sometimes shown, Harry had been under the impression that, despite their differences, they each held a respect for the other that couldn't be expressed in words, especially by Tom. Harry knew that Dumbledore had to have some feeling for Tom other than dislike to have saved him from Azkaban and the Ministry when he had traveled to this time, and he also knew that Tom had an almost masochistic fascination with the Headmaster. Too often had he seen Dumbledore's face echoed in Tom's Pensieve to think that Tom didn't care about what Dumbledore thought of him. Yet Tom stood tall and neutral beside Harry amongst a sea of crying faces and did not shed a tear – despite the fact, known only by the two of them and Voldemort, that Dumbledore had chosen to save Tom's life at the cost of leaving himself wide open in a duel with one of the most powerful wizards living. In effect, Dumbledore's death had been for the purpose of saving Tom.

Harry was not crying, either, even though he probably knew Dumbledore better than any other student in the school. It was _because_ of this, not despite it, that Harry couldn't shed tears. He knew that Dumbledore had looked on death as being the next great adventure and that he wouldn't _want_ to be mourned. Albus Dumbledore would want his life to be celebrated, not cried over. Even though Harry knew he would miss him, Dumbledore had died in exactly the way he would have wanted to: protecting a Hogwarts student.

He would have given anything at that moment to see into Tom's mind, to know what he was thinking. Was he hating Dumbledore's memory behind those closed eyes, or was he, deep inside, mourning him?

* * *

Harry would have been surprised to know that Tom was thinking nothing at all. He was becoming good at it already; he had taken out a book on Occlumency from the Restricted Section – no one watched him in the library, now. It felt strange, when his thoughts were usually racing so fast, to slow them to a crawl and stop them. He stared straight ahead toward Dumbledore's coffin. He and Harry were both in line to see him. Harry's eyes were bloodshot and sunken; even if he wasn't crying, he looked awful. And that brought such a surge of guilt passing without warning through Tom's chest that he nearly retched. _Think nothing, _Tom told himself. _Think nothing at all._

It took a long time for them to reach the end of the line, to reach Dumbledore, and neither spoke a word to the other in the interim. Harry was approached several times by weeping mourners telling him how proud Dumbledore had been of him, how Harry shouldn't blame himself. Each time Harry gripped Tom's hand tightly, and Tom wished he wouldn't because it made it hard not to think. Then they reached the coffin, and Tom looked inside.

There was nothing there, _nothing_ in that old body. He was wearing his half-moon spectacles, but there was no amusement or anger glinting through them, and they'd combed his hair all wrong, and he _knew_ that Dumbledore wouldn't want to be buried in that staid black robe, he'd want something in putrid purple. There was _nothing_. He felt like shouting out 'This isn't Dumbledore! Why are you all coming to look at this wrinkled body they've put in his place!' but he did not, though his throat worked around the words for several moments, and for the first time that day Tom felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes, but he looked away sharply and managed to hold them back.

Tom left afterward, before the service began. Harry had to stay; it would look too strange for Harry Potter, Dumbledore's favorite, the last one to see him alive, to leave early, but no one would think it strange of Tom. Those who didn't know who he really was wouldn't think that he'd known Dumbledore very well, having only been at Hogwarts for six months, and those who did know would probably be glad for him to be gone; they'd probably think he was making a mockery of the service just by being there. Draco Malfoy had already left, along with most of the other Slytherins. Tom went up to Gryffindor Tower, did not respond to the portrait when she said 'My, aren't we back early?' except to say the password, and then walked through the empty common room up to the empty dormitory. He almost reached for his Pensieve, but instead he took a book and closed the curtains around him. He sat there with the book for some time, flipping the pages at regular intervals, but anyone around him would have known that it was too dark to read.

* * *

Harry felt very weird sitting through the reading of Dumbledore's will up in the Headmaster's old office – now Minerva McGonagall's temporary one, though the change was expected to become permanent. The Minister for Magic was there, along with many of the staff and a good deal of the Order of the Phoenix, including Remus Lupin, Tonks, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry was the only student present, and he felt very out of place and wanted to go make sure Tom was okay, but he didn't object; he didn't say a word throughout the entire reading. 

He didn't know why he'd been invited when the reading was over because Dumbledore hadn't left him anything. He had to admit he was a _little_ surprised about that, but he supposed it made sense; Dumbledore didn't have anything Harry needed or wanted. Then, when the reading was over, Professor McGonagall told him, Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to stay behind. Once everyone had filed out, she produced two letters.

'This letter is for you, Remus,' McGonagall said, 'and this one is for you, Molly.' Mrs. Weasley looked exceptionally puzzled to be receiving a personal letter from Dumbledore, but she took it without hesitation. Harry expected McGonagall to say that he'd gotten a letter, too, but she did not. She sat down. 'Mr. Potter,' she said. Harry looked around sharply. 'Dumbledore has left instructions about what to do with a mutual acquaintance of ours.'

'You mean Tom?' Harry choked. Had Dumbledore said not to let Tom stay at Hogwarts if Dumbledore died?

'Yes. Mr. _Maxwell_ is, as you know, at Hogwarts on Dumbledore's charity. He has left him a significant sum; however, he has had it placed in _your_ vault, as Mr. Maxwell does not have one of his own. It should be more than enough to cover the boy's Hogwarts expenses for the next year, to say the least.' McGonagall said all this curtly and quickly, as though wanting to get it over with. 'He had also left a letter for Mr. Maxwell, which I trust you will deliver to him.' She stood up, and Harry walked over to grab the sealed piece of parchment from her. 'I believe Molly's letter also contains some instructions pertaining to him.'

Professor McGonagall looked over at Mrs. Weasley pointedly. Mrs. Weasley looked up and nodded fervently. 'Yes. Yes, of course Arthur and I will take him over the summer. Poor boy,' she said, tears returning to her eyes after all the crying she had done over Dumbledore. Harry idly wondered what story Dumbledore had made up about Tom to make her so upset.

'Then our business together is concluded,' McGonagall said. Harry took that to mean that he could leave, and he did so, without a backward glance at any of them.

Harry walked quickly to Gryffindor Tower; he hated the pitying looks he received as he went. Hermione and Ron were in the common room, but he shook his head as they approached him and went up to the dormitory. All the curtains were open except for one.

'Tom?' Harry said, walking over to his bed. He slowly opened the curtains. Tom was lying in bed, a open book in his hands, fast asleep. Harry frowned, ran a hand through Tom's hair, and then left.

Tom's eyes opened.

* * *

The next months passed much more quietly at Hogwarts than usual. There were fewer attacks reported in the _Daily Prophet_. Except for the giants now guarding the castle gates, the complete cessation of Hogsmeade visits, and the cancellation of all further Quidditch matches, none of which were unexpected, Professor McGonagall made no changes to the usual running of the school. She still taught Transfiguration while taking on the duties of the Headmaster, and Harry noticed that she looked increasingly run-down and ragged as the year drew to a close. 

Harry's relationship with Tom was still going strong. Neither mentioned their argument the night of Voldemort's attack; Harry supposed they both figured that if the other had taken the time to apologize while being held captive by Voldemort that was good enough to be going on with. Tom was more subdued than normal, though Harry supposed that might just be because it wouldn't be seemly to be cheerful. He didn't think that was the reason, however, especially when Tom's quietness extended long past the mourning period of the rest of the school. He had given Tom Dumbledore's note the next day, but he knew that Tom had never opened it. He had seen it sticking out of the inside pocket of Tom's robes a few times a week, still sealed. Harry didn't pry into what Tom was feeling; he didn't think he could ever understand the bizarre relationship the two of them had had, so he doubted he could be much help. He figured Tom would open the letter when he was ready, and that was that.

Ron was none too thrilled to learn that Tom would be staying with his parents over the summer, but he grudgingly promised Harry to take care of him, but only as a testament to their long-standing friendship. Tom wasn't pleased to learn that he'd be spending the summer without Harry, either, but he took it well enough once Harry assured him that, as soon as he turned seventeen and couldn't be forced to stay at the Dursleys' home anymore, he would go to him. It was only at this point, after knowing each other for months, that Tom mentioned his birthday was August 1st, the day after Harry's, and Harry needled him – perhaps more than was necessary – about being younger than him. 'Just you wait until my birthday,' Harry said. 'I'll perform magic all day, and you won't be able to hex me for teasing you for a good twenty-four hours.' Then Tom hexed him for real, 'to make up for that day in advance,' and Harry shut up.

All in all, Harry could not say he had had a bad year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's death stained it, true, but Harry had met Tom and fallen in love with him, and had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't be falling out of love any time soon. It was hard for him, being young, to imagine living to Dumbledore's age with Tom still at his side, but it was even harder to imagine life without him, so he supposed he was stuck. And he didn't mind a jot.

* * *

Tom didn't open Dumbledore's letter until he was on the train leaving Hogwarts, while Harry walked off to the Prefect's compartment to find Ron and Hermione, doubtless to give Ron some final instructions as to Tom's care and feeding. He smirked at the thought – Harry _did_ talk to Ron about him as if he were some kind of tetchy but fragile plant when he believed Tom to be out of earshot. 

The smirk was erased from his face as he recalled himself to his task. His thumb ran over the seal for a brief instant before he carefully opened the letter.

_Dear Tom,_

_If you are reading this letter, then you ought to know that I believe you have already made great progress, as I don't doubt that, at the beginning of the year, you would have torn it to shreds. Even if it has taken you a while to open it – which I don't doubt it has – you have changed, and for the better, in my admittedly less than humble opinion. _

_I want you to remember your promise to protect Harry but, just as importantly, I want you to know something that I told Harry long ago: to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. My mind may not have seemed particularly orderly to you at times, but there was a method to my madness, however effective or ineffective you may have thought it to be. _

_I know that you care for Harry – perhaps you even love him, but you have always been particularly hard for me to read without cheating, an achievement you may congratulate yourself upon – and in order for you to maintain those feelings in your heart, you must organize your own mind. You are always so intent to fill it up with knowledge, but rarely have I seen you considering that knowledge, placing it in the context of your own life and the lives of those around you. This is what you must do if you do not wish to be swallowed by your own magic; this is what you must do if you do not wish to become what you did before, and lose your feelings for Harry inexorably. This is my final piece of advice to you, little one: focus on organizing your thoughts, not producing too many to keep up with._

_I thank you for being an entertaining student, and expect to see you some time in the very distant future._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Tom smiled, tears dotting his vision, and folded the letter back up in his pocket. He would keep it there, he decided, for some time to come. And when Harry returned and saw the smile on Tom's face and asked about its cause, Tom laughed, got to his feet, and kissed Harry deeply.

It had been a good year.

**FINIS**


End file.
